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w T 

The Monist 


VOL. in. 





The Monist 






Copyright, i8qj, 


The Open- Court Publishing Co. 




Auta, The Doctrine of. By C. Lloyd Morgan i6i 

Cruelty and Pity in Woman. By Guillaume Ferrero 220 

Doctrine of Auta, The. By C. Lloyd Morgan 161 

Education, Nationalisation of, and the Universities. By H. von Hoist 493 

Evolutionary Love. By Charles S. Peirce 176 

Foundations of Theism, The. By E. D. Cope 623 

Founder of Tychism, The : His Methods, Philosophy, and Criticisms. Editor. 571 

Fourth Dimension, The. By Hermann Schubert 402 

Hindu Monism. By Richard Garbe 51 

Insects, The Nervous Ganglia of. By Alfred Binet 35 

Intuition and Reason. By Christine Ladd Franklin 211 

Issues of " Synechism," The. By G. M. McCrie 380 

Love, Evolutionary. By Charles S. Peirce 176 

Man's Glassy Essence. By Charles S. Peirce i 

Meaning and Metaphor. By Lady Victoria Welby 510 

Mental Mummies. By Felix L. Oswald 30 

Modern Science, Religion and. By F. Jodl 329 

Monism, Hindu. By Richard Garbe 51 

Nationalisation of Education and the Universities. By H, von Hoist 493 

Necessitarians, Reply to the. By Charles S. Peirce 526 

Necessity, The Idea of : Its Basis and Its Scope. Editor 68 

Necessity, The Superstition of By John Dewey 3b2 / 

Panbiotism, Panpsychism and. Editor 234 

Panpsychism and Panbiotism. Editor 234 

Reason. Intuition and. By Christine Ladd Franklin 2n 

Religion and Modern Science. By F. Jodl 329 

Religion of Science, The. Editor 352 

Renan : A Discourse Given at South Place Chapel, London. By Moncure D. 

Conway 201 



Reply to the Necessitarians. By Charles S. Peirce 526 

Science, The Religion of. Editor 352 

Superstition of Necessity, The. By John Dewey 362 

" Synechism," The Issues of. By G. M. McCrie 380 

Theism, The Foundations of. By E. D. Cope 623 

Thought in America, The Future of. By E. D. Cope 23 

Tychism, The Founder of: His Methods, Philosophy, and Criticisms. Editor. 571 

Universities, Nationalisation of Education and the. By H. von Hoist 493 

Woman, Cruelty and Pity in. By Guillaume Ferrero 220 


France. By Lucien Arr^at iii, 258 

France, The Religious Outlook in. By Theodore Stanton 450 

Germany. By Christian Ufer 264, 640 

New French Books. By Lucien Arr^at 456 

Recent Evolutionary Studies in Germany. By Carus Sterne 97 


A Letter from Mr. Herbert Spencer 272 

Comte and Turgot. By Louis Belrose, Jr 118 

Is Monism Arbitrary ? Editor 124 

James's Psychology, Observations on Some Points of. By W. L. Worcester 285 

Logic as Relation Lore. By F. C. Russell 272 

Mathematics a Description of Operations with Pure Forms. Editor 133 

Reply to a Critic, A. By Edward T. Dixon 127 

Sensation, Prof Ernst Mach's Term 298 

Some Remarks Upon Professor James's Discussion of Attention. By Hiram 

M. Stanley 122 


Acht Abhandltingen, Herrn Professor Dr. Karl Ludivig MicheUt zum go. 

Geburtstag 478 

Arr^at, Lucien. Psychologie du Peintrc 142 

Baets, I'Abbe Maurice de. Vicole d'ant/iropoiogie critmnelL 649 

Becker, George F. Finite Homogeneous Strain, Fioiv, and Rupture of 

Rocks 480 

Berendt, M. and J. Friedlander. Der Pessimismus im Lichte einer holier en 

Weitauffassung 477 

Binet, Alfred. Les Alterations de la Personnalitc 145 

Blackwell, Antoinette Brown. The Philosophy of Individuality^ or the One 

and the Many 649 

Cattell, James McKeen, and George Stuart Fullerton. On the Perception 

of Small Differences 141 



Delboeuf. J. D Hypnotisme dei'nnt les Chambres Legislatives Belies 318 

Dessoir, Max. Ueber den Hautsinn 319 

Dixon, Edward T. An Essay on Reasoning 138 

Dreher, Eugen. Der Materia lis mus, eine Verirrung des menschlichen 

Geistes, widerlegi durch eine zeitgemdsse Weltanschauung 479 

Edinger, L. Vergleichend-entwickelungsgeschichtliche und anatomische Stu- 

dien im Bereiche der Hirnanatomie. j. Riechapparat und Ammonshorn. 648 

Engel, Gustav. Die Philosophie und die sociale Frage 478 

Eucken, Rudolf. Die Grundbegriffe der Gegenwart 650 

Friedlander, ]. and M. Berendt. Der Pessimismus im Lichte einer hdheren 

Weltauffassung 477 

FuUerton, George Stuart, and James McKeen Cattel. On the Perception 

of Small Differences 141 

George, Henry. A Perplexed Philosopher 482 

Gutberlet, Constantin. Die Willefts/reiheit und ihre Gegner 646 

Hiller, H. Croft. Against Dogma and Free- Will 649 

Hirth, Georges. Physiologie de V Art 143 

Holtzmann, Heinrich Julius. Hand-Commentar zutn neuen Testament. . 

IV. Evangelium, Brief e und Offenharung des Johannes 643 

Holtzmann, Heinrich Julius. Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung 

in das neue Testament 1 50 

Janet, Pierre. Etat mental des hystiriques les stigftiates mentaux 648 

Joel, Karl. Der echte und der Xenophontische Sokrates 480 

Jones, E. E. Constance. An Introduction to General Logic 314 

Lindemann, Ferdinand. Vorlesungen fiber Geometric 314 

Lotze, Hermann. Outlines of a Philosophy of Religion 140 

Lubbock, John. The Beauties of Nature 323 

Meynert, Theodore. Sammlung von popular-wissenschaftlichcn Vortrdgen 

iiber den Bau und die Leistungen des Gehirns 151 

Mik, J. Graber^s Leitfaden der Zoo logic fiir die oberen Classen der Mittel- 

schulen 322 

Miinsterberg, Hugo. Beitrdge zur experimentellen Psychologic 304 

Oelzelt Newin, Anton. Veber sittliche Dispositioncn 323 

Oflfner, Max. Ueber die Grundformen der Vorstellungsverbindung 479 

Paszkowski, Wilhelm. Wie steht es jetzt mit der Philosophic, und luas 

haben wir von ihr zu hoffen ? 478 

Paulsen, Friedrich. Einleitung in die Philosophic 466 

Rolfes, Eugen. Die Aristotclische Auffassung vom Verhdltnissc Gottes zur 

Welt und zum Menschen 311 

Royce, Josiah. The Spirit of Modem Philosophy 306 

Royer, Cl^mence. Recherchcs d\yptii]ue physiologique et physique 320 



Salter, William M. First Steps in Philosophy 470 

Schellwien, Robert. Max S timer und Friedrich Nietzsche 311 

Schmidt, Johannes. Die Urkeimath der Indogermanen und das europdische 

Zahlsystem 149 

Schmidkunz, Hans. Der Hypnotismus in getneinfasslicher Darsteiiung. . . 317 

Sharp, Frank Chapman. The ^Esthetic Element in Morality 650 

Sidgwick, Alfred. Distinction and the Criticism of Beliefs 312 

Spencer, Herbert. Social Statics and Justice 136 

Sterne, Carus. Natur und Kunst 323 

Topinard, Paul. V Homme dans la Nature 146 

Topinard, Paul. V Anthropologie du Bengale 322 

Tufts, James Hayden. The Sources of Development of Kant^s Teleology., 312 

Verwom, Max. Die Bewegung der lebendigen Substanz 321 

Wil]iams, C. M. ^ Revieio of the Systems of Ethics Founded on the Theory 

of Evolution 474 

Wundt, Wilhelm. Vorlesungen Uber die Menschen- und Thierseele 300 

Wundt, Wilhelm. Hypnotismus und Suggestion 315 

Wundt, Wilhelm. GrundzUge der physiologischen Psychologie 648 

PERIODICALS 153-160 ; 325-328 ; 488-492 ; 651-658. 


Plates belonging to the article "The Nervous Ganglia of Insects." (In No. i 
of this volume.) 

Vol. III. 

>CTOBER» 1892. 

Jo. I, 



IN The Mofiistiot January, 1891, I tried to show what conceptions 
ought to form the brick and mortar of a philosophical system. 
Chief among these was that of absolute chance for which 1 argued 
again in last April's number.* In July, I applied another fundamen- 
tal idea, that of continuity, to the law of mind. Next in order, I 
have to elucidate^ from the point of view chosen, the relation between 
the psychical and physical aspects of a substance. 

The first step towards this ought, I think, to be the framing of 
a molecular theory of protoplasm. But before doing that, it seems 
indispensable to glance at the constitution of matter, in general* We 
shall, thus, unavoidably make a long detour ; but. after all, our pains 
will not be wasted, for the problems of the papers that are to follow 
in the series will call for the consideration of the same question. 

All physicists are rightly agreed the evidence is overwhelming 
which shows all sensible matter is composed of molecules in swift 
motion and exerting enormous mutual attractions, and perhaps repul- 
sions» too. Even Sir William Thomson, Lord Kelvin, who wishes 
to explode action at a distance and return to the doctrine of a ple- 
num, not only speaks of molecules, but undertakes lo assign definite 

t I am rejoiced to find, sine* my last paper was printed, that a philosopher as 
sobtle and profound as Dr. Edmund Montgomery has long been arguing for the 
same element in the universe. Other world-renowned thinkers, as M Renouvier 
and M. Delbceuf. appear to share this opinion. 

THK momsj: 

magnitudes to them. The brilHant Judge Stailo, a man who did not 
always rightly estimate his own qualities in accepting^ tasks for him- 
self, declared war upon the atomic theory in a book well worth care- 
ful perusal. To the old arguments in favor of atoms which he found 
in Fechner's monograph, he was able to make replies of consider- 
able force, though they were not sufficient to destroy those argu- 
ments. But against modern proofs he made no headway at all. 
These set out from the mechanical theory of Iieat. Rum ford's ex- 
periments showed that heat is not a substance. Joule demonstrated 
that it was a form of energy. The heating of gases under constant 
volume, and other facts instanced by Rankine, proved that it could 
not be an energy of strain. This drove physicists to the concUi- 
sion that it was a mode of motion. Then it was remembered that 
John Bernoulli had shown that the pressure of gases could be ac- 
counted for by assuming their molecules to be moving uniformly in 
rectilinear paths. The same hypothesis was now seen to account 
for Avogadro's law^ that in equal volumes of different kinds of gases.; 
exposed to the same pressure and temperature are contained equal] 
numbers of molecules. Shortly after, it was found to account for 
the laws of diffusion and viscosity of gases, and for the numerical 
relation between these properties. Finally, Crookes*s radiometer 
furnished the last link in the strongest chain of evidence which sup-l 
ports any physical hypotliesis. 

Such being the constitution of gases, liquids must clearly be 
bodies in which the nmlecules wander in curvilinear paths, while in 
solids they move in orbits or quasi-orbits. (See my definition soiiti 
11, I, in the ** Century Dictionary/') 

We see that the resistance to compression and to interpenetra- 
tion between sensible bodies is, by one qf the prime propositions ofl 
the molecular theory, due in large measure to the kinetical energy! 
of the particles, which must be supposed to he quite remote from 
one another, on the average, even in solids. This resistance is no 
doubt influenced by finite attractions and repulsions between the 
molecules. All the impenetrability of bodies which w^e can observe! 
is, therefore, a limited impenetrability due to kinetic and positional! 
energy. This being the case, we have no logical right to suppose] 

man's classy essence. 3 

that absolute impenetrability, or the exclusive occupancy of space. 
belongs to molecules or to atoms. It is an unwarranted hypothesis, 
not a i^era causa.* Unless we are to giv^e up the theory of energy, 
finite positional attractions and repulsions between molecules must 
be admitted. Absolute impenetrability would amount to an infinite 
repulsion at a certain distance. No analogy of known phenomena 
exists to excuse such a wanton violation of the principle of continu- 
ity as such a hypothesis is. In short, we are logically bound to 
adopt the Boscovichian idea that an atom is simply a distribution 
of component potential energy throughout space* (this distribution 
being absolutely rigid,) combined with inertia. The potential en- 
ergy belongs to two molecules, and is to be conceived as different 
between molecules A and B from what it is between molecules .4 
and C The distribution of energy is not necessarily sphericaL Nay, 
a molecule may conceivably have more than one centre ; it may even 
have a central curve, returning into itself. But I do not think there 
are any observed facts pointing to such multiple or linear centres. 
On the other hand, many facts relating to crystals, especially those 
observed by Voigt,t go to show that the distribution of energy is 
hamionical but not concentric. We can easily calculate the forces 
which such atoms must exert upon one another by consideringj that 
they are equivalent to aggregations of pairs of electrically positive 
and negative points infinitely near to one another. About such an 
atom there would be regions of positive and of negative potential, 
and the number and distribution of such regions would determine 
the valency of the atom, a number which it is easy to see would in 
many cases be somewhat indeterminate. I must not dwell further 
upon this hypothesis, at present. In another paper, its conse- 
quences will be further considered, 

I cannot assume that the students of philosophy who read this 
magazine are thoroughly versed in modern molecular physics^ and 

♦ By a 7'rfti fiiufii, in ihe logic of science, is meant a state of things known to 
exist in some cases and supposed to exist in other cases, because it would account 
for observed phenomena. 

f Wiedemann. Jnmi/rtt, 1887^1889. 

I Sec Maxwell on Spherical Harmonics, in his Ekftrkity and AfttgneHTm. 


therefore it is proper to mention that the governing principle in this 
branch of science is Clausius's law of the vinal. I will first state 
the law, and then explain the peculiar terms of the statement. This 
statement is that the total kinetic energy of the particles of a system 
in stationary motion is equal to the total viriaK By a sysiem is here 
meant a number of particles acting upon one another.* Stationary 
motion is a quasi-orbital motion among a system of particles so that 
none of them are removed to indefinitely great distances nor acquire 
indefinitely great velocities. The kinetic energy of a particle is the 
work which would be required to bring it to rest, independently of 
any forces which may be acting upon it. The virial of a pair of 
particles is half the work which the force which actually operates 
between them would do if, being independent of the distance, it 
were to bring them together. The equation of the virial is 

Here m is the mass of a particle, 7f its velocity, J? is the attraction 
between two particles, and /* is the distance between them. The 
sign ^ on the left hand side signifies that the values of Ptv- are to 
be summed for all the particles, and ^2 on the right hand side 
signifies that the values of AV are to be summed for all the pairs of 
particles. If there is an external pressure /' (as from the atmosphere) 
upon the system, and the volume of vacant space within the bound- 
ary of that pressure is J\ then the virial must be understood as 
including ^/"K so that the equation is 

There is strong (if not demonstrative) reason for thinking that the 
temperature of any body above the absolute zero (—273 C/), is pro- 
portional to the average kinetic energy of its molecules, or say a^, " 

* The word systtrtu has three pecuHar meanmgs in mathematics. (A,) It means I 
an orderly exposition of the truths of astronomy, and hence a theory of the motions ' 
of the stars ; as the Ptolemaic sys/f^m, the Copernican system ^ This is much like 
the sense in which we speak of the Calvinistic systfttt of theology, the Kantian 
system of philosophy, etc. (/? ) It means the aggregate of the planets considered as] 
all moving in somewhat the same way. as the solar system: and lience any aggre-1 
gate of particles moving under mutual forces {C.) It means a number of forces j 
acting simullaneously upon a number of particles* 


where a is a constant and H is the absohite temperature. Hence, 
we may write the equation 

where the heavy lines above the different expressions signify that 
the average values for single molecules are to be taken. In 1872^ a 
student in the University of Leyden, Van der Waals, propounded in 
his thesis for the doctorate a specialisation of the equation of the 
virial which has since attracted great attention. Namely, he writes it 

The quantity b is the volume of a molecule, which he supposes to 
be an impenetrable body, and all the virtue of the equation lies in 
this term whicli makes the equation a cubic in F, which is required 
to account for the shape of certain isothermal curves-"^ But if the 
idea of an impenetrable atom is illogical, that of an impenetrable 
molecule is almost absurd. For tht; kinetical theory of matter 
teaches us that a molecule is like a solar system or star-cluster in 
miniature. Unless we suppose that in all heating of gases and 
vapors internal work is performed upon the molecules, implying 
that their atoms are at considerable distances, the whole kinetical 
theor\' of gases falls to the ground. As for the term added to P, 
there is no more than a partial and roughly approximative justihca- 
tion for it Namelvi let us imagine two spheres described round a 
particle as their centre, the radius of the larger being so great as to 
include all the particles whose action upon the centre is sensible, 
while the radius of the smaller is so large that a good many mole- 
cules are included within it. The possibility of describing such a 
sphere as the outer one implies that the attraction of the particles 
varies at some distances inversely as some higher power of the dis- 
tance than the cube, or, to speak more clearly, that the attraction 
multiplied by the cube of the distance diminishes as the distance 
increases ; for the number of particles at a given distance from any 

* But, in fact, an inspection of these curves is sufiFicieni to show that they are 
of a higher degree than the third For they have the line ^'^0, or some line f'a 
constant for an asymptote, while for small values of P> the values of ti^P/{4V)^ are 


one particle is proportionate to the square of that distance and 
each of these gives a term of the virial which is the product of the 
attraction into the distance. Consequently unless the attraction 
multiplied by the cube of the distance dim mi shed so rapidly with 
the distance as soon to become insensiblej no such outer sphere as 
is supposed could be described. However, ordinary experience 
shows that such a sphere is possible ; and consequently there must 
be distances at which the attraction does thus rapidly diminish as 
the distance increases. The two spheres* then, being so draw^n, 
consider the \ irial of the central particle due to the particles be- 
tween them. Let the density of the substance be increased, say, 
A"" times. Then, for every term» Rf\ of the virial before the con- 
densation, there will be N terms of the same magnitude after the 
condensation. Hence, the virial of each particle will be proportional 
to the density, and the equation of the virial becomes 


This omits the virial w^ithin the inner sphere, the radius of which 
is so taken that within that distance the number of particles is not 
proportional to the number in a large sphere. For Van der Waals 
this radius is the diameter of his hard molecules^ which assumption 
gives his equation. But it is plain that the attraction between the 
molecules must to a certain extent modify their distribution, unless 
some pecular conditiojis are fulftUed. The equation of Van der 
Waals can be approximately true therefore only for a gas. In a 
solid or liquid condition, in which the removal of a small amount of 
pressure has little effect on the volume, and where consequently the 
virial must be much greater than Pl\ the virial must increase w^th 
the volume. For suppose we had a substance in a critical condition 
in w^hich an increase of the volume would diminish the virial more 
than it w^ould increase ^/T. If we were forcibly to diminish the 
volume of such a substance, when the temperature became equal- 
ised, the pressure which it could withstand would be less than be- 
fore, and it would be still further condensed, and this would go on 
indefinitely until a condition were reached in which an increase of 
volume would increase J/'Fmore than it would decrease the virial. 


In the case of soiids, at least, P may be zero ; so that the state 
reached would be one m which the virial increase* with the volume, 
or the attraction between the particles does not increase so fast with 
a diminution of their distance as it would if the attraction %vere in- 
versely as the distance. 

Almost contemporaneously with Van der Waals's paper, an- 
other remarkable thesis for the doctorate was presented at Paris by 
AmagaL It related to the elasticity and expansion of gases, and to 
this subject the superb experimenter, its author, has devoted his 
whole subsequent life. Especially interesting are his obser\^ations 
of the volumes of ethylene and of carbonic acid at temperatures 
rom 20^ to 100 and at pressures ranging from an ounce to 5000 
"pounds to the square inch. As soon as Amagat had obtained these 
results, he remarked that the *' coefficient of expansion at constant 
volume/' as it is absurdly called, that is, the rate of variation of the 
pressure with the temperature, was very nearly constant for each 
volume. This accords with the equation of the virial, which gives 

dp _a _ d2Rr 
dH^ J7 d^~' 

Now, the virial must be nearly independent of the temperature, and 
therefore the last term almost disappears. The virial would not 
be quite independent of the temperature, because if the tempera- 
ture (i, e. the square of the velocity of the molecules) is lowered, 
and the pressure correspondingly lowered, so as to make the volume 
the same, the attractions of the molecules will have more time to 
produce their effects, and consequently, the pairs of molecules the 
^closest together will be held together longer and closer ; so that the 
virial will generally be increased by a decrease of temperature. 
Now, Amagat's experiments do show^ an excessively minute effect of 
this sort, at least, when the volumes are not too small. However, the 
observations are well enough satisfied by assuming the ** coefficient 
of expansion at constant volume '* to consist wholly of the first term, 
tf/K Thus, Amagat's experiments enable us to determine the values 
of a and thence to calculate the virial ; and this we find varies for 
carbonic acid gas nearly inversely to /'o.t*. There is, thus, a rough 
approximation to satisfying Van der Waals's equation. But the 



most interesting result of Amagat*s experiments, for our purpose at 
any rate, is that riie quantity a, though nearly constant for any one 
volume, differs considerably with the volume, nearly doubling when 
the volume is reduced fivefold. This can only indicate that the 
mean kinetic energy of a given mass of the gas for a given tempe- 
rature is greater the more the gas is compressed. But the laws of 
mechanics appear to enjoin that the mean kinetic energy of a mov- 
ing particle shall be constant at any given temperature. The only 
escape from contradiction, then, is to suppose that the mean mass 
of a moving particle diminishes upon the condensation of the gas. 
In other words, many of the molecules are dissociated, or broken up 
into atoms or sub-molecules. The idea that dissociation should be 
favored by diminishing the volume will be pronounced by physi- 
cists, at first blush, as contrary to all our experience. But it must be 
remembered that the circumstances we are speaking of, that of a 
gas under fifty or more atmospheres pressure, are also unusual. 
That the ** coefficient of expansion under constant volume '' when 
multiplied b}^ the volumes should increase with a decrement of the 
volume is also quite contrary to ordinary experience ; yet it un- 
doubtedly takes place in all gases under great pressure. Again, 
the doctrine of Arrheiiius* is now generally accepted, that the mole- 
cular conductivity of an electrolyte is proportional to the dissocia- 
tion of ions. Now the molecular conductivity of a fused electrolyte is 
usually superior to that of a solution. Here is a case, then, in which 
diminution of volume is accompanied by increased dissociation. 

The truth is that several different kinds of dissociation have to 
be distinguished. In the first place, there is the dissociation of a 
chemical molecule to form chemical molecules under the regular 
action of chemical laws. This may be a double decomposition, as 
when iodhydric acid is dissociated, according to the formula 

or, it may be a simple decomposition, as when pentachloride of 
phosphorus is dissociated according to the formula 

pci^ = pa^ + aa. 

*. Anticipated by Claushis as long ago as 1857 ; and by \ViUi01nson in 1851. 


mam's classy cssknck. 

All these dissociations require, according to the laws of thermo- 
chemistry, an elevated temperature. In the second place, there is 
the dissociation of a physically polymerons moleculej that is, of 
several chemical molecules joined by physical attractions. This 1 
am inclined to suppose is a common concomitant of the heating of 
soJids and liquids ; for m these bodies there is no increase of com- 
pressibility with the temperature at all comparable with the increase 
of the expansibility. But. in the third place, there is the dissocia- 
tion wnth which we are now concerned, w^hich must be supposed to 
be a throwing off of unsaturated sub-molecules or atoms from the 
molecule. The molecule may, as I have said, be roughly likened 
to a solar system. As such, molecules are ab!e to produce pertur- 
bations of one another^s internal motions ; and in this way a planet, 
h e, a sub-molecule, will occasionally get thrown oH and wander 
about by itself, till it finds another unsaturated sub-molecule with 
which it can unite. Such dissociation by perturbation will natur- 
ally be favored by the proximity of the molecules to one another. 

Let us now pass to the consideration of that special substance, 
or rather class of substances, whose properties form the chief subject 
of botany and of zoology, as truly as those of the silicates form the 
chief subject of mineralogy t I mean the life-slimes, or protoplasm. 
Let us begin by cataloguing the general characters of these slimes. 
They one and all exist in two states of aggregation, a solid or nearly 
solid state and a liquid or nearly liquid state ; but they do not pass 
from the former to the latter by ordinary fusion. They are readily 
decomposed by heat, especially in the liquid state ; nor will they 
bear any considerable degree of cold. All their vital actions take 
place at temperatures very little below the point of decomposition. 
This extreme instability is one of numerous facts which demonstrate 
the chemical complexity of protoplasm. Every chemist will agree 
that they arc far more complicated than the albumens. Now\ al- 
bumen is estimated to contain in each molecule about a thousand 
atoms ; so that it is natural to suppose that the protoplasms con- 
lain several thousands. We know that while they are chiefly com- 
posed of oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen, a large number 
of other elements enter into living bodies in small proportions; and 



il is likely that most of these enter into the composition of proto- 
plasms. Now, since the numbers of chemical varieties increase at 
an enormous rate with the number of atoms per molecule, so that 
there are certainly hundreds of thousands of substances whose mole- 
cules contain twenty atoms or fewer, w*e may well suppose that the 
number of protoplasmic substances runs into the billions or trillions* 
Professor Cayley has given a mathematical theory of ** trees/' with 
a view of throwing a light upon such questions ; and in that light 
the estimate of trillions (in the English sense) seems immoderately 
moderate. It is true that an opinion has been emitted, and defended 
among biologists, that there is but one kind of protoplasm ; but the 
observations of biologists^ themselves, have almost exploded that 
hypothesis, which from a chemical standpoint appears utterly incred- 
ible. The anticipation of the chemist would decidedly be that enough 
different chemical substances having protoplasmic characters might 
be formed to account, not only for the differences between nerve- 
slime and muscle-slime, between whale-slime and lion-slime, but 
also for those minuter pervasive variations which characterise dif- 
ferent breeds and single individuals. 

Protoplasm, when quiescent, is, broadly speaking, solid ; but 
"when it is disturbed in an appropriate way, or sometimes even 
spontaneously without external disturbance, it becomes, broadly 
speaking, liquid. A moner in this state is seen under the microscope 
to have streams within its matter ; a slime-mould slowly flows by 
force of gravity. The liquefaction starts from the point of disturb- 
ance and spreads through the mass. This spreading, however, 
is not uniform in all directions ; on the contrary it takes at one 
time one course, at another another, through the homogeneous 
mass, in a manner that seems a little mysterious. The cause of 
disturbance being removed, these motions gradually (with higher 
kinds of protoplasm, quickly) cease, and the slime returns to its 
solid condition. 

The liquefaction of protoplasm is accompanied by a mechanical 
phenomenon. Namely, some kinds exhibit a tendency to draw them- 
selves up into a globular form. This happens particularly with the 
contents of muscle-cells. The prevalent opinion, founded on some 


I I 

of the most exquisite experimental investigations that the history of 
science can show, is undoubtedly that the contraction of muscJe-cells 
due to osmotic pressure ; and it must be allowed that that is a 
factor in producing the effect. But it does not seem to me that it 
satisfactorily accounts even for the phenomena of muscular contrac- 
tion ; and besides, even naked slimes often draw up in the same 
way. In this case, we seem to recognise an increase of the surface- 
tension. In some cases, too, the reverse action takes place, extra- 
ordinary pseudopodia being put forth, as if the surface-tension were 
diminished in spots. Indeed, such a slime always has a sort of skin^ 
due no doubt to surface-tension, and this seems to give way at the 
point where a pseudopodium is put forth. 

Long -continued or frequently repeated hquefaction of the pro- 
toplasm results in an obstinate retention of the solid state, which we 
call fatigue. On the other hand repose in this state, if not too much 
prolonged, restores the Jiquefiability. These are both important 

The life-slimes have, further, the peculiar property of growing. 
Crystals also grow ; their growth, however, consists merely in at- 
tracting matter like their own from the circumambient fluid. To 
suppose the growth of protoplasm of the same nature, would be to 
suppose this substance to be spontaneously generated in copious 
supplies wherever food is in solution. Certainly, it must be granted 
that protoplasm is but a chemical substance, and that there is 
no reason why it should not be formed synthetically like any other 
chemical substance. Indeed, Clifford has clearly shown that we have 
overwhelming evidence that it is so formed. But to say that such 
formation is as regular and frequent as the assimilation of food is 
quite another matter. It is more consonant with the facts of obser- 
vation to suppose that assimilated protoplasm is formed at the in- 
stant of assimilation, under the influence of the protoplasm already 
present. For each slime in its growth preserves its distinctive char- 
acters with wonderful truth, nerve- slime growing nerve-slime and 
muscle-slime muscle-slime, lion-slime growing lion-slime, and all the 
varieties of breeds and even individual characters being preserved 
in the growth. Now it is too much to suppose there are billions 



of different kinds of protoplasm floating about wherever there is 

The frequent liquefaction of protoplasm increases its power of 
assimilating food ; so much so, indeed, that it is questionable whether 
in the solid form it possesses this power. 

The life-slime wastes as well as grows ; and this too takes place 
chiefly if not exclusively in its liquid phases. 

Closely connected with growth is reproduction ; and though in 
higher forms this is a specialised function, it is universally true that 
w^herever there is protoplasm, there is, will be, or has been a power 
of reproducing that same kind of protoplasm in a separated organ- 
ism. Reproduction seems to involve the union of two sexes ; though 
it is not demonstrable that this is always requisite. 

Another physical property of protoplasm is that of taking habits. 
The course which the spread of liquefaction has taken in the past is 
rendered thereby more likely to be taken in the future ; although 
there is no absolute certainty that the same path will be followed 

Very extraordinary, certainly, are all these properties of proto- 
plasm ; as extraordinary as indubitable. But the one which has 
next to be mentioned, while equally undeniable, is infinitely more 
wonderful. It is that protoplasm feels. We have no direct evidence 
that this is true of protoplasm universally, and certainly some kinds 
feel far more than others. But there is a fair analogical inference 
that all protoplasm feels. It not only feels but exercises all the func- 
tions of mind. 

Such are the properties of protoplasm. The problem is to find 
a hypothesis of the molecular constitution of this compound which 
will account for these properties, one and all. 

Some of them are obvious results of the excessively complicated 
constitution of the protoplasm molecule. All very complicated sub- 
stances are unstable ; and plainly a molecule of several thousand 
atoms may be separated in man)^ ways into two parts in each of 
which the polar chemical forces are very nearly saturated. In the 
solid protoplasm, as in other solids, the molecules must be supposed 
to be moving as it were in orbits, or, at least, so as not to wander 



indefinitely. But this solid cannot be melted, for the same reason 
that starch cannot be melted ; because an amount of heat insufficient 

llo make the entire molecules wander is sufficient to break them 
up completely and cause them to form new and simpler molecules. 
But wlien one of the molecules is disturbed, even if it be not quite 
thrown out of its orbit at first, sub-molecules of perhaps several 
hundred atoms each are thrown off from it. These will soon acquire 

bthe same mean kinetic energy as the others, and therefore velocities 
several times as great. They will naturally begin to wander, and 
in wandering will perturb a great many other molecules and cause 
them in their turn to behave like the one originally deranged. So 
many molecules wnll thus be broken up, that even those that are in- 
tact will no longer be restrained within orbits^ but will wander about 
freely. This is the usual condition of a liquid, as modern chemists 
understand it ; for in all electrolytic liquids there is considerable 

But this process necessarily chills the substance, not merely on 
account of the heat of chemical combination, but still more because 
the number of separate particles being greatly increased, the mean 
kinetic energy must be less. The substance being a had conductor, 
this heat is not at once restored. Now the particles moving more 
slowly, the attractions between them have time to take effect, and 
they approach the condition of equilibrium. But their dynamic 
equilibrium is found in the restoration of the solid condition, which 
therefore takes place, if the disturbance is not kept up. 

When a body is in the solid condition, most of its molecules 
must be moving at the same rate, or, at least, at certain regular sets 
of rates ; otherwise the orbital motion would not be preserved. The 
distances of neighboring molecules must always be kept between a 
certain maximum and a certain minimum value. But if, without 
absorption of heat, the body be thrown into a liquid condition, the 
distances of neighboring molecules will be far more unequally dis- 
tributed, and an effect upon the viriai will result. The chilling of 
protoplasm upon its liquefaction must also be taken into account. 
The ordinary effect will no doubt be to increase the cohesion and 
with that the surface-tension, so that the mass will tend to draw it- 


self up- But in special cases, the virial will be increased so much 
that the surface-tension will be diminished at points where the tem- 
perature is first restored. In that case, the outer film will give way 
and the tension at other places will aid in causin^^ the general fluid 
to be poured out at those points, forming pseudopodia. 

When the protoplasm is in a liquid state, and then only, a solu- 
tion of food is able to penetrate its mass by diffusion. The proto- 
plasm is then considerably dissociated ; and so is the food, like all 
dissolved matter. If then the separated and unsaturated sub-mole- 
cules of the food happen to be of the same chemical species as sub- 
molecules of the protoplasm, they may unite with other sub-mole- 
cules of the protoplasm to form new molecules, in such a fashion 
that when the solid state is resumed, there may be more molecules 
of protoplasm than there were at the beginning. It is like the jack- 
knife whose blade and handle, after having been severally lost and 
replaced, were found and put together to make a new knife. 

We have seen that protoplasm is chilled by liquefaction, and 
that this brings it back to the solid state, when the heat is recov- 
ered. This series of operations must be very rapid in the case of 
nerve-slime and even of muscle-sh'me, and may account for the un- 
steady or vibrator}^ character of their action. Of course, if assimi- 
lation takes place, the heat of combination, which is probably tri- 
fling, is gained. On the other hand, if work is done, whether by 
oerve or by muscle, loss of energy must take place. In the case of 
the muscle, the mode by which the instantaneous part of the fatigue 
is brought about is easily traced out. If when the muscle contracts 
it be under stress, it will contract less than it otherwise would do, 
and there will be a loss of heat. It is like an engine which should 
work by dissolving salt in water and using the contraction during 
the solution to lift a weight, the salt being recovered afterwards by 
distillation. But the major part of fatigue has nothing to do with 
the correlation of forces. A man must labor hard to do in a quarter 
of an hour the work which draws from him enough heat to cool his 
body by a single degree. Meantime, he %vill be getting heated, he 
will be pouring out extra products of combustion, perspiration, etc., 
and he will be driving the blood at an accelerated rate through mi- 

man's glassy essence. 15 

nute tubes at great expense. Yet all this will have little to do with 
his fatigue. He may sit quietly at his table writing, doing prac- 
tically no physical work at all, and yet in a few hours be terribly 
fagged. This seems to be owing to the deranged sub-molecules of 
the ner\-e-slime not having had time to settle back into their proper 
combinations. When such sub-molecules are thrown out, as they 
must be from time to time, there is so much waste of material. 

In order that a sub-molecule of food may be thoroughly and 
firmly assimilated into a broken molecule of protoplasm, it is ne- 
cessary* not only that it should have precisely the right chemical 
composition, but also that it should be at precisely the right spot at 
the right time and should be moving in precisely the right direction 
with precisely the right velocity. If all these conditions are not ful- 
filled, it will be more loosely retained than the other parts of the 
molecule ; and ever)' time it comes round into the situation in which 
it was drawn in, relath'ely to the other parts of that molecule and 
to such others as were near enough to be factors in the action, it will 
be in special danger of being thrown out again. Thus, when a partial 
liquefaction of the protoplasm takes place many times to about the 
same extent, it will, each time, be pretty nearly the same molecules 
that were last drawn in that are now thrown out. They will be 
thrown out, too, in about the same way, as to position, direction of 
motion, and velocity, in which they were drawn in ; and this will be 
in about the same course that the ones last before them were thrown 
ouL Not exactly, however ; for the ver\' cause of their being thrown 
off so easily is their not having fulfilled precisely the conditions of 
stable retention. Thus, the law of habit is accounted for, and with 
it its peculiar characteristic of not acting with exactitude. 

It seems to me that this explanation of habit, aside from the 
question of its truth or falsit>\ has a certain value as an addition to 
our little store of mechanical examples of acti ms analogous to habit. 
All the othfo's. so far as I know, are either statical or else involve 
forces which, taking only the sensible motions into account, violate 
the law of energy. It is so with the stream that wears its own bed. 
Here- the sa::d h carried to its most stable situation and leit there. 
The laur of ecerg) fori»:d5 this : for when anything reaches a position 



of Stable equiiibniim, its momentum will hu at a maximum, so that 
it can according to this law only be left at rest in an unstable situa- 
tion. In alJ the statical illustrations, too, things are brought into 
certain states and left there. A garment receives folds and keeps 
them ; that is. its limit of elasticity is exceeded. This failure to 
spring back is again an apparent violation of the law of energy ; for 
the substance will not only not spring back of itself (which might 
be due to an unstable equilibrium bein^ reached) but will not even 
do so when an impulse that \vay is applied to it. Accordingly, 
Professor James says **the phenomena of habit . . , are due to the 
plasticity of thf . . , materials/' Now, plasticity of materials means 
the having of a low limit of elasticity. (See the ** Century Diction- 
ary,*' under solid.) But the hypothetical constitution of protoplasm 
here proposed involves no forces but attractions and repulsions 
strictly following the law of energy. The action here, that is, the 
throwing of an atom out of its orbit in a molecule, and the entering 
oi a new atom into nearly, but not quite the same orbit, is somewhat 
similar to the molecular actions which may be supposed to take 
place in a solid strained beyond its limit of elasticity. Namely, 
in that case certain molecules must be thrown out of their orbits, 
to settle down again shortly after into new orbits. In short, the 
plastic solid resembles protoplasm in being partially and temporarily 
liquefied b_v a slight mechanical force. But the taking of a set by 
a solid body has but a moderate resemblance to the taking of a 
habit, inasmuch as the characteristic feature of the latter, its inex- 
actitude and want of complete determinacy, is not so marked in the 
former, if it can be said to be present there, at all. 

The truth is that though the molecular explanation of habit is 
pretty vague on the mathematical side, there can be no doubt that 
systems of atoms having polar forces would act substantially in that 
manner, and the explanation is even too satisfactory to suit the con- 
venience of an advocate of tychism. For it may fairly be urged 
that since the phenomena of habit may thus result from a purely 
mechanical arrangement, it is unnecessary to suppose that habit- 
taking is a primordial principle of the universe. But one fact 
remains unexplained mechanically, which concerns not only the facts 



of habit, but all cases of actions apparently violating the law of 
energy ; it is that all these phenomena depend upon aggregations of 
triJiions of molecules in one and the same condition and neighbor^ 

hood ; and it is by no means clear how they could have all been 
brought and left in the same place and state by any conservative 
forces. But let the mechanical explanation be as perfect as it may, 
the state of things which it supposes presents evidence of a primor- 
dial habit-taking tendency. For it shows us like things acting in 
like ways because they are alike. Now, those who insist on the 
doctrine of necessity will for the most part insist that the physical 
world is entirely individual. Yet law involves an element of gener- 
ality. Now to say that generality is primordial, but generalisation 
not, is like saying that diversity is primordial but diversification 
not. It turns logic upside down. At any rate, it is clear that 
nothing but a principle of habit, itself due to the growth by habit of 
an infinitesimal chance tendency toward habit-taking, is the only 
bridge that can span the chasm between the chance-medley of chaos 
and the cosnios of order and law, 

I shall not attempt a molecular explanation of the phenomena 
of reproduction, because that would require a subsidiary' hypothesis, 
and carry me away from my main object. Such phenomena, uni- 
versally diffused though they be, appear to depend upon special 
conditions; and we do not find that all protoplasm has reproductive 

But what is to be said of the property of feeling? If conscious- 
ness belongs to all protoplasm, by what mechanical constitution is 
this to be accounted for? The slime is nothing Init a chemical com- 
pound. There is no inherent impossibility in its being formed syn- 
thetically in the laboratory, out of its chemical elements ; and if it 
were so made, it would present all the characters of natural proto- 
plasm. No doubt, then, it would feel. To hesitate to admit this 
would he puerile and ultra- puerile. By what element of the mole- 
cular arrangement, then, would that feeling be caused ? This ques- 
tion cannot be evaded or pooh-poohed. Protoplasm certainly does 
feel ; and unless we are to accept a weak dualism, the property 
must be shown to arise from some peculiarity of the mechanical sys- 



tein. Yet the attempt to deduce it from the three laws of mechan- 
ics, applied to never so ingenious a mechanical contrivance, would 
obviously be futilcr It can never be explained, unless we admit that 
physical events are but degraded or undeveloped forms of psychical 
events. But once grant that the phenomena of matter are but the 
result of the sensibly complete sway of habits upon mind, and it 
only remains to explain why in the protoplasm these habits are to 
some slight extent broken up, so that according to the law of mind, 
in that special clause of it sometimes called the principle of accom- 
modation,* feeling becomes intensified. Now the manner in which 
habits generally get broken up is this. Reactions usnaily termin- 
ate in the removal of a stimulus ; for the excitation continues as 
long as the stimulus is present* Accordingly, habits are general 
ways of behavior which are associated with the removal of stimuli. 
But when the' expected removal of the stimulus fails to occur, the 
excitation continues and increases, and non-habitual reactions take 
place ; and these tend to weaken the habit If, then, we suppose 
that matter never docs obey its ideal laws with absolute precision, 
but that there are almost insensible fortuitous departures from regu- 
larity, these will produce, in general, equally minute effects. But 
protoplasm is in an excessively unstable condition ; and it is the 
characteristic of unstable equilibrium, that near that point exces- 
sively minute causes may produce startlingly large effects. Here 
then, the usual departures from regularity will be followed by others 
that are ver>^ great ; and the large fortuitous departures from law so 
produced, w^ill tend still further to break up the laws, supposing 
that these are of the nature of habits. Now, this breaking up of 
habit and renewed fortuitous spontaneity will, according to the law 
of mind, be accompanied by an intensification of feeling. The nerve- 
protoplasm is, without doubt, in the most unstable condition of any 
kind of matter ; and consequently, there the resuhing feeling is the 
most manifest. 

Thus we see that the idealist has no need to dread a median* 

* "Physiologically. . , . accommcxJation means the breaking up of a habit. ♦ . . 
Psychologically, ii means reviving consciousness." Baldwin, Fsych&hgyy Part III 
ch. i., S 5« 

man's glassy essence. 


ical theory of life. On the contrary, such a theory, fully developed, 
is bound to call in a tychistic idealism as its indispensable adjunct. 
Wherever chance-spontaneity is found, there, in the same proportion, 
feeling exists. In fact, chance is but the outward aspect of that 
which within itself is feeling* I long ago showed that real existence, 
or thing-ness, consists in regularities. So, that primeval chaos in 
which there was no regularity was mere nothing, from a physical as- 
pect. Yet it was not a blank zero ; for there was an intensity of 
consciousness there in comparison with which all that we ever feel 
is but as the struggling of a molecule or two to throw off a little of 
the force of law to an endless and innumerable diversity of chance 
utterly unlimited. 

But after some atoms of the protoplasm have thus become par- 
tially emancipated from law, what happens next to them? To un- 
derstand this, we have to remember that no mental tendency is so 
easily strengthened by the action of habit as is the tendency to take 
habits. Now, in the higher kinds of protoplasm, especially, the 
atoms in question have not only long belonged to one molecule or 
another of the particular mass of slime of which they are parts ; but 
before that, they were constituents of food of a protoplasmic consti- 
tution. During all this time, they have been liable to lose habits 
and to recover them again ; so that now» when the stimulus is re- 
moved, and the foregone habits tend to reassert themselves, they do 
so in the case of such atoms with great promptness. Indeed, the 
return is so prompt that there is nothing but the feeling to show 
conclusively that the bonds of law have ever been relaxed. 

In short, diversification is the vestige of chance-spontaneity; 
and wherever diversity is increasing, there chance must ha opera- 
tive. On the other hand, wherever uniformity is increasing, habit 
must be operative. But wherever actions take place under an estab- 
lished uniformity, there so much feeling as there may be takes the 
mode of a sense of reaction. That is the manner in which I am led 
to define the relation between the fundamental elements of con* 
sciousness and their physical equivalents. 

It remains to consider the physical relations of general ideas. 
It may be well here to reflect that if matter has no existence except 



as a specialisation of mind, it follows that whatever affects matter 
according to regular laws is itself matter. But all mind is directly 
or indirectly connected with all matter, and acts in a more or less 
regular way ; so that all mind more or less partakes of the nature of 
matter. Hence, it would be a mistake to conceive of the psychical 
and the physical aspects of matter as two aspects absolutely dis- 
tinct. Viewing a thing from the outside, considering its relations of 
action and reaction with other things, it appears as matter. Viewing 
it from the inside, looking at its immediate character as feeling* it 
appears as consciousness. These two views are combined when we 
remember that mechanical laws are nothing but acquired habits, 
like all the regularities of mind, including the tendency to take 
habits, itself ; and that this action of habit is nothing but generalisa- 
tion, and generalisation is nothing but the spreading of feelings. 
But the question is, how do general ideas appear in the molecular 
theory of protoplasm ? 

The consciousness of a habit involves a general idea. In each 
action of that habit certain atoms get thrown out of their orbit, and 
replaced by others. Upon all the different occasions it is different 
atoms that are thrown off, but they are analogous from a physical 
point of view, and there is an in%vard sense of their being analogous. 
Every time one of the associated feelings recurs, there is a more or 
less vague sense that there are others, that it has a general charac- 
ter, and of about what this general character is. We ought not, I 
think, to hold that in protoplasm habit never acts in any other than 
the particular way suggested above. On the contrary, if habit be 
a primary property of mind, it must be equally so of matter, as a 
kind of mind- We can hardly refuse to admit that wherever chance 
motions have general characters, there is a tendency for this gener- 
ality to spread and to perfect itself. In that case, a general idea is 
a certain modification of consciousness which accompanies any reg- 
ularity or general relation between cliance actions. 

The consciousness of a general idea has a certain ** unity of the 
ego," in it, which is identical when it passes from one mind to an- 
other. It is, therefore, quite analogous to a person ; and, indeed, a 
person is only a particular kind of general idea. Long ago, in the 



Jmrnai of Speculative Phihsophy {\o\. Ill, p. 156), I pointed out 
that a person is nothing but a symbol involving a general idea ; but 
my views were, then, too noniinalistic to enable me to see that 
every general idea has the unified living feeling of a person. 

All that IS necessar>% upon this theory, to the existence of a 
person is that the feelings out of which he is constructed should be 
in close enough connection to influence one another. Here we can 
draw a consequence which it may be possible to submit to experi- 
mental test. Namely, if this be the case, there should be something 
like personal consciousness in bodies of men who are in intimate 
and intensely sympathetic communion. It is true that when the 
generalisation of feeling has been carried so far as to include all 
within a person, a stopping-place, in a certain sense, has been at- 
tained ; and further generalisation will have a less lively character- 
But we must not thmk it will cease. Esprit dc c&rps^ national sen- 
timent, sym-pathy, are no mere metaphors. None of us can fully 
realise what the minds of corporations are, any more than one of 
my brain-cells can know what the whole brain is thinking. But the 
law of mind clearl}^ points to the existence of such personalities, 
and there are many ordinary observations which, if they were crit- 
ically examined and supplemented by special experiments, might, 
as first appearances promise, give evidence of the influence of such 
greater persons upon individuals. It is often remarked that on one 
day half a dozen people, strangers to one another, will take it into 
their heads to do one and the same strange deed, whether it be a 
physical experiment, a crime, or an act of virtue. When the thirty 
thousand young people of the society for Christian Endeavor were 
in New York, there seemed to me to be some mysterious diffusion 
of sweetness and light. If such a fact is capable of being made out 
anywhere, it should be in the church. The Christians have always 
been ready to risk their lives for the sake of having prayers in com- 
mon, of getting together and praying simultaneously with great 
energy, and especially for their common body, for ** the whole state 
of Christ's church militant here in earth," as one of the missals has 
it. This practice they have been keeping up everywhere, weekly, 
for many centuries. Surely, a personality ought to have developed 


in that church, in that '* bride of Christ," as they call it, or else 
there is a strange break in the action of mind, and I shall have to 
acknowledge my views are much mistaken. Would not the societies 
for psychical research be more likely to break through the clouds, 
in seeking evidences of such corporate personality, than in seeking 
evidences of telepathy, which, upon the same theory, should be a 
far weaker phenomenon ? 

C. S. Peirce. 


HISTORY teaches us the nature of the degenerative and de- 
structive agencies in national life. These are of various kinds, 
but they may be generally included under the heads of Physical 
Vices, Superstitions, and Selfish Ambitions. These have become 
possible through excess of emotional, and deficiency of rati9nal 
states of the mind. When a large part of a population is influenced 
by emotional rather than by rational modes of thought, unethical 
conduct has full opportunity, and suffering and destruction are sure 
to follow. All races and nations are subject to such disorders, if 
only in some cases during their periods of infancy and of degen- 

The peoples of Europe have difficulties and dangers which are 
due to their own peculiar situation. The people of North America 
have to meet certain risks of a somewhat different character, owing 
to our peculiar position. In Europe we see an accumulation of 
many races who reached their Ultima Thule at the coast of the At- 
lantic, and who have had to accommodate themselves to each other 
as best they could. Speaking different languages and having dif- 
ferent political organisations, they have consolidated into separate 
nations. This result has only been reached after many conflicts, 
and the result has been the combination and absorption of smaller 
states into greater, such as we find them to-day. This result has 
not terminated conflicts ; it has reduced their frequency .but has in- 
creased their scope and importance. To-day the antagonisms of 
these nations impose great burdens upon them, but they are at the 
same time productive of great good. 



With men as with other animals excellence is the result of use 
and exercise- With animals this exercise has been compulsory, and 
has been due largely to the pressure of hunger. Among men intel- 
lectual and ethical excellence may be due to compulsion, or it may 
result from the capacity to dev^elop lofty ideals. In the former case 
man is driven ; in the latter case he is led. Now the organisation 
of human society is such, that if man will not he led, he is driven. 
The '* mills of the Gods" are ever ready for those who lag behind 
in tlie progress of the race. But there are mills and mills, and no 
mill has yet appeared in human history better calculated to grind 
out a good grist from an intellectual point of vic%v, than western 
Eurasia, or Europe. The emulations and antagonisms of so many 
nations have stimulated men to do their best, and have stimulated 
governments to aid them in doing it, for several centuries. The 
result has been modern art, modern science pure and applied, and 
modern philosophy. To produce all this however, Europe has been 
under pressure, and the pressure has been in some, if not all of its 
countries, more or less galling. 

The European, in order to escape local tyranny, political^ so- 
cial, or theological, or to better his chances of physical Jiving, has 
come to America. He has taken possession, and has bettered his 
condition from a physical point of view, most successfully. The 
question that interests us now, is whether he has bettered himself 
in any other way, and whether he is going to continue the mental 
progress which has so distinguished his history in Europe. Popu- 
lation is rapidly increasing, and the increasing severity of the 
*^ struggle for existence'* which will follow, will stimulate men to 
increased excellence in their methods of obtaining a livelihood, but 
will it develop the mind in any other direction? We have before us 
in the case of China, the effect of close industrial competition in a 
dense population, without corresponding intellectual development. 
What is the outlook for the American? Will the process of natural 
selection only, the ''devil-take-the-hindmost " doctrine of Darwin, 
be sufficient to develop the higher mental faculties, or having de- 
veloped them, to enable them to survive and to become general, or 



In the first place we Jack in America the great stimulus to men- 
tal progress already referred to, international jealousy and emula- 
tion. In this respect we are situated very much like the Chinese, 
but if anything Jess favorably. We practically own the continent. 
We have no fear of Tartar invasions from the west nor Japanese 
from the north east. The Canadians are of identical race with our- 
selves, and are almost certain to become identical in nationality 
with us. We are accustomed to boast ourselves of this, and to look 
with great satisfaction on our isolated position among nations. But 
our self-gratulation must be greatly tempered by the reflection that 
such isolation is only beneficial so long as we can maintain our ideals 
without external stimulus. And this is something that few nations 
have so far been able to accomplish. It is true, however, that the 
Atlantic ocean is not so wide as it was formerly, and we are truly 
one of the family of the Indo-European nations. But we will miss 
the effect of the daily stimulus which they afford each other, and 
the daily contact which transmits so much from man to man. 

What is our present intellectual rank among these nations to- 
day ; meaning by this our status in actual production of intellectual 
work, and leaving aside history? Witliout any great competence 
to speak on many branches of such work, I may be not far from 
correct if I summarise as folJows : In music and sculpture unpro- 
ductive ; in painting and literature (as an art) good, but weak in 
quantity in comparison with our population. In sciences, feeble in 
many branches, but very productive in some others, I refer to pure 
science. In applied science we stand high. In philosophy as a na 
tion, weak. 

But we have the future before us. If there is a demand for 
the products of pure thought in this country, the supply will come. 
Much may be expected of our race. We will hope that the demand 
will grow, for at present it is not as large as it ought to be. It is 
of course easy for thought to **run in accustomed channels,** and 
many people there are in this as in all otlier countries, who believe 
that sufficient is already knowiii and that he who would disturb 
current opinions is a •♦disturber of the peace/' Strange as it may 
seem» in this comparatively new country we have one special in 



ducement to this habit of mind. This is to be found in our political 
system, which requires an unhesitating submission to the will of the 

Here is our second danger. We are apt to confuse mental sob- 
mission with physical subnrission. Physical submission to the will 
of the majority is generally necessary for physical reasons, with 
which we are all familiar. Ballots are simply a peaceful representa* 
tion of bullets, and we anticipate the submission to the latter by sub- 
mission to the former. But the mind should be free. Current or 
popular opinions are not always correct. In fact if they were, re- 
form or progress would be unnecessary. A proposal for change al- 
ways begins with a minorit^s and much time may often elapse be- 
fore such change becomes acceptable to the majority. Before the 
majority accepts a new step of progress the progressive idea cannot 
govern physically. It must be content to be unpopular for a greater 
or less time. Now the politician naturally dreads unpopularity, 
for it is political death. And just in proportion as we are politicians 
do we share in this unfortunate mental attitude. And how many 
Americans are not politicians ? It is the prevalent ethical disease 
of Americans, If it becomes general, the progress of this country 
is ended, and her fate among nations is sealed. Her manhood is 
gone, and woman may well feel her hand itch to 

" Defeat their dirty tricks 
Confound their politics," 

The prevalence of the habit of submission to what we know to 
be wrong in this country is simply detestable. Herbert Spencer has 
given us some excellent advice on this subject, and we will do well 
to heed it. The habit extends all the way through political, scien- 
tific, and domestic economy. The unpopularity of the reformer is 
expressed in the term ** kicker," which is applied to him among the 
lower classes in this country. As one of its advocates once said to 
me, it is the ** American System," and there was a strong element 
of truth in his assertion. With such people, criticism is identical 
with quarrelling, for they cannot conceive of any motive for endeav- 
oring to reform some abuse or correct some error, but personal 

THE rrrrxx c^ rH:vc>Hr :n wfjii.a. ^* 

rxDCcr. Szidi aa attErode is a >:ire mirk c: irt^lLesrniJLl ri^eviiccriiY 
a&d e-ihkai iacapacny, az>d ii i:i£n:tiely incite JLsaes the rvjur:> o: ih^r rxr- 
ionmcr, xnd readily cccTerts; into i a:jJt>T- Homiever, ih<rt' 
are a good niasy asen len in this counny, aiii there aw «ei2CJ^e* 
at vork viikh will pcohahly keep up tbe supply. 

In the abseace of coicpulsaoii i- ibe fc^m: o: ejiierriai or c:\ :I 
vars and other disasters, the churches aie coin*: a »:ood m>Mk ::: 
keeping ideals before the peopie, arid is inviti::*: cc^nespor dir.jf: 
practical life. It is true that their e5c^rts aie mc^ne or less r\?:arced 
by the insistence on erroneous and even absurd op:n:oiis aN>u: 
some things, but they do in£nite senice in teachin*: ihai "n:An 
shall not live by bread alone," nor by the mere display of physicai 
possessions. They teach that there are ideals of truth and beauty 
better worth living for, and that the mind is the greater part of n^an. 
It is the churches which make the majorit\^ of scientists and phi- 
losophers, as they formerly did of painters. Then let the churches 
flourish. Like the nations of Europe, their emulations and anrag- 
onisms bring out the truth. The Presbyterians ha\*e to solve the 
knotty questions of biblical inspiration and di\nne order. The 
Methodists will have to study the nature and value of human emo- 
tions. The Friends will know what is to be kno'ira of imme«.iiAte 
divine influence. The Catholics have learned how to restrain in 
some measure the most thoughtless of mankind. The I'niiarians 
and Ethical Culturists are proving that man may retain and live up 
to high ideals without much or any theolog>\ So long as there is 
no philosophy or none to sf>eak of in .\merica, the evolution of 
thought will come from the conflicts of the theologies : a peaceful 
war which is far less wasteful than physical wars. Theology has 
been generally in Europe the parent of philosophy, and so it will be 
here. From the various stages and conditions of the agitation will 
spring science and art. By this method man is led into progress by 
measures which involve the best attributes of his nature, instead of 
being driven by ap|>eals to his lower motives, or by physical force. 
In this progress moral courage is not lost, but it is developed : and 
criticism is truth's best weapon, and is not a cause of offense. That 
this progress in the churches is real, is proven by our Woodrow. 



McQueary, Briggs, and others, and it will go on as long as the love 
of truth and moral courage exist in those organisations. 

It is interesting to remember that this struggle of opinions has 
passed through the same stages in Europe wherever the love of 
truth has had an abiding place. This is especially true of Germany, 
where also philosophy has had so large a development in relatively 
modem times. But we need something more than opinions to coun- 
teract the dangers which threaten earnestness of character in this 
country, which 1 have pointed out. Active organisations are ne- 
cessary, which shall resist tendencies to crystallisation from both 
sides. Non-theological people must be stimulated to maintain eth- 
ical ideals; and theological people must be restrained from smother- 
ing them under useless and obstructive dogmas and practices. It 
is too true tliat while some theological dogmas include high ethical 
ideals, other dogmas discredit them by deriving them from incredible 
sources* and seeking to sustain them by incredible sanctions. Where 
such dogmas are sincerely held, true thought is suppressed, knowl- 
edge makes slow progress, and ethical life is more difficult. 

As already remarked, we cannot yet claim to he, as a nation, 
distinguished for profound thinking on the subjects of highest hu- 
man interest ; nor yet are we the most thoughtless- Ignorance of 
the possibilities of mind is not so general as in some parts of Europe, 
but it is greater than in others. Material objects and interests oc- 
cupy almost as exclusively the minds of the majority of our citizens 
whom we are accustomed to consider *^ intelligent," as among the 
unintelligent. Hence our proneness to boast of our material great- 
ness, instead of our intellectual conquests. Hence that weakest of 
ail forms of self-praise, the publication of the dimensions of our 
country and its rapid growth, as though these were indications of 
our superiority as a people or as a race. This is repeated ad nau- 
seam, while our real merits, our contributions to the stock of the 
world's progress in thought, knowledge, and mental power, are 
passed by in silence. Our newspaper press reflects this state of af- 
fairs, since they generally think it their best policy to follow rather 
than lead public opinion. There are, however, noteworthy ex- 
ceptions to this chEiracter of the press both in the east and the west, 


which we owe to the superiority of the men who edit and direct 

Id the conduct of our schools and of our scientihc organisations, 
we have a ccvxesponding exhibition of mediocrity' or worse, with a 
few noble and distinguished exceptions. A mere interest in educa- 
tion and research does not confer competency to direct and sustain 
them : yet an interest in such matters is generally the only qualifica- 
tion demanded of the directors of such institutions, provided they 
understand how to buy, sell, and invest money. It is to be hoped 
that this state of affairs will some day pass away, and that men who 
are influential in such matters will some time know enough them- 
selves to distinguish between the false and the true, and between 
men of ability- and adventurers who are after the money and position 
with which our institutions of learning and our scientific enterprises 
can endow them. This reform will progress exactly in proportion 
as it is understood how much human happiness depends on true re- 
search and on correct thinking, and how little on revelation and on 
ancient dogma. 

It is not, I repeat, sufficiently understood, how much human 
conduct depends on correct thinking. How much financial dishon- 
esty would be averted by a rational thought as to the inevitable 
consequences ? How much social irregularity* would be prevented 
by a similar treatment of the subject ? How much hatred and waste- 
ful antagonism would the world lack, if the ordinary* conditions of 
living were understood and acted on ! So the cultivation of the ra- 
tional mind is of incalculable importance, and if we wish to prosper 
as a nation we must bend our energies to the pleasant task this 
problem presents to us. Neglect of our mental powers means de- 
generacy and decay : while their cultivation means p>ower and hap- 
piness. Wflblth, except as a means of attaining this end, after phys- 
ical necessities are supplied, is simply useless. 

E. D. CoiE, 


IF we should name the most important factor in the changes which 
have gradually widened the contrast between modem science 
and the scholasticism of the Middle Ages, we might define it as a 
** progressive recognition of hereditary influences/' 

There was a time when each individual of the human race was 
considered a separate accident, called into existence by an act of 
unlimited, arbitrary' power, and apt to be as suddenly changed^ even 
unto a complete inversion of his former moral being, by a merciful, 
or revengeful, caprice of the same power. 

Biology has since taught us to apply the doctrine of evolution 
to the problems of our own moral and physical nature, to trace the 
tendencies of bygone times to their effects in the present age, to 
consider individuals the outcome of a long series of precedent in- 
fluences, and to recognise the truth that the length of those influences 
is proportioned to the persistence of the result. 

Intelligent statesmen were the first to appreciate the practical 
value of those facts. The advisers of Alexander II. did not waste 
their time in a hopeless attempt to convert the freedom -worshipping 
natives of the Caucasus into devotees of Muscovite despotism, but 
at once confronted them with the alternative of exile or death. Our 
Indian commissioners earl}^ realised the impossibility of turiiing the 
descendants of a long ancestry of deer-hunters into tillers of the soil, 
and transferred the survivors of the long race-war to a territorj^ where 
they could for better or worse, indulge their incurable penchant. 
The Groot Fontein penitentiary of the Transvaal Republic became 
the grave of so many Caffirs that the managers at last abandoned 
the plan of inuring nomads to the restraints of sedentary occupation, 


H^ -- 

ibem abc:i: in cr.a-'r-jian^s tc nezi ibe irriiiii:- l;:cbes c: tbe rea- 
der senlense-is^ 

Hciedirarr inf jt^nre? car 

apply thai prizcipLe ic pbc-cmena c: eir:::il iz-i rel;£::".i5. evrlu- 
tic". Hew else shall w-e eipliiz ir«e lart iha: in less :r.a- siirr.- 
years ibe doctrine « Prt:-:estar.iis=: srr^ii fr:rr. rsentral Germany ir 

Pc-cmsal and IzaJy a very deciief r^ccress in ceneral iniellicence 
has failed to lead to a similar res^nl:? Kcw snail we accrnnt ::r ihe 
success of Chrisdan missknaries in Tasmania an-i Oraneit: and iheir 
litter failure in Enrrar and Hinii-s^an ? H:w fir tne persecnticn- 
pTOO« >Tta^T\ c* 1 »i ■ ST^i » •■ je •tr^^* ..-» .^z^^^e ;.« ^Luaa^a^rv— »szn« \.. »__? 
revh^ ol crass mystic deinsi^ns in ibe midst cf our realistic civil- 

There is tx> dcnr: that tne average Spanish sail^. cr villaze- 
sbopkeeper od to-day ;K«s5«sses a larzer stock c-f general information 
than the areza^e Bnmswick sen :«lI- teacher cf the siiteenth centnr*-. 
Yet C3C aitbe least learned cf thc-se schocl -tear hers zrnld, "r;* instinct. 
siiflEoently appreciate the sicninrance cf the Pr:-testan: revel: tc 
celebrate hs triumph ry a bir Sinnre and wha: cur westrm friends 
woaid call a --grand war-dance. ' :n a heiiih: near the little tcwn cf 
Wolienbaitel Why does Pedrz Gcnzales still rrc»ss '" "^^* at the 
rcentic-ii c-i a heretic- while Peter Jansen w;uld as s:cn return tc 
the pic-siy hovels cf the mediarval serfs as crawl rack under the 
yc4ce of Jesuitry? Hew c:uld the rccs cf ioz^ Irelan-d and the 
vecas c* scnn\- Spain nc urish equally imperishable rccts cf a plan: 
that failed tc eet a nrm fcothcld m the sands cf Bran den bur^h? 

The soSution cf thc-se enigmas can r* fcund in the circumstance 
that the doctrine of anti-naruralism had extended its in^uence to the 
character of many Eurcpean na::cnf, and tha: the character- traits 
c4 a race are less amenarle :: ripid changes than its intellecrual 
standards. On the s^iul-crsan-sm :f the Latin races me thcu5.and 
years induetice of mc»nas::: tjTsnn;. has left maces "ahich the lizh: of 
science will fail to enace iz*r cen:uries to ccme. The rrcrazanda 



of a manlier creed has thus been defeated, not only by their ignor- 
ance, but by their aversion to mental efforts, by their habitual re- 
liance on miracles, by their incurable indifference to the claims of 
truth and the merits of intellectual independence, by their hereditary 
mistrust in the competence of their natural instinct. To their moral 
palate a doctrine which nauseates their northern neighbors has be- 
come a pleasant narcotic ; they have been forced to swallow the 
opium of pessimism till a craving for the repetition of the mind- 
enervating dose has become a second nature ; they hug the cross 
that has proved a symbol of death to their noblest reformers. 

Against that influence of perverted instincts the logic of mental 
revelations avails but little> ** Propositions which would appear 
self-evident to certain mental constitutions/* says Dr. Carpenter, 
*' are apt to be very differently received by otherSi according to their 
conformity or discordance with that aggregate of pre/armed o/Mtm 
which has grown up in the minds of each. For just as we try whether 
a new piece of furniture which is offered us does or does not fit into 
a certain recess in our apartment, and accept or decline it accord- 
ingly, so we tv}' a new proposition which is offered to our mental 
acceptance, ff it either at once fits in or can by argument or dis- 
cussion be brought to fit in to some recess in our fabrics of thought, 
we give our assent to it by admitting it to its appropriate place. 
But if it neither fits in the first instance nor can by any means be 
brought to fit, the mind automatically rejects it." 

It is true that logical demonstrations may become complete" 
enough to defy dissent, but even from facts which force themselves 
upon the acceptance of every^ rational human being, different indi- 
viduals will draw widely different inferences. That the mind of man 
may become a receptacle for irreconcilable doctrines is strikingly 
illustrated by the simultaneous acceptance of the Old and New Tes- 
tament of our heterogeneous scripture, and in the same way obstinate 
bigots manage to associate scientific truth and dogmatic absurdities. 
Darwin and Moses may occupy adjoining quarters in the fabric of 
the same cosmogony ; the rule of three may become a passive con- 
comitant of Trinitarian dogmas. The torch of truth may be per- 
mitted to fiicker in a secluded recess of souls which refuse it the 



privilege of throwing its rays in certain directions. Education may 
fail to reclaim hereditary bigotry. In the winter of 1559 the rabble 
of Madrid assembled to witness the death of Don Carlos de Seso, a 
Spanish nobleman whose ancestors had fought at Granada and 
Toledo, His brother had been the favorite hunting-companion of 
H Charles V. ; one of his uncles had sacrificed his life in deciding the 
victory of Pa via ; Don Carlos himself had acquired renown both as 
a soldier and a scholar, but in the latter capacity Iil* had confessed 
^ his sympathy with certain doctrines of Martin Luther, and the Holy 
I Inquisition had sentenced him to anticipate his doom in the flames 
of the stake. King Philip H. honored the aaia tiafe with his pres- 
ence, and frowned in a way which the condemned freethinker mis- 
took for a disapproval of his sentence. **0 King! can you thus 
witness the torture of your subjects?" exclaimed De Seso. **De' 

I liver us from so cruel a death which evc^n our enemies admit we 
have not deserved." ** I would help carrying faggots to burn my 
own son,** replied the King, **if he had incurred your unspeakable 
^ guilt," Yet Philip the Second was one of the best-educated princes 
I of his century. In mathematics, astronomy, ancient and modern 
languages, geography, and history, be was far better informed than 
Landgraf Philip of Hessen, who would have risked his own life to 
save that of a loyal cavaher. 

There are mental mummies who cannot be revived by removing 
their grave-shrouds and clothing them in modern drapery ; the prin- 
H ciple of conservatism has penetrated their very veins and the marrow 
of their bones. It is by no means unconceivable that a popular 
leader like Garibaldi or Porfirio Diaz should succeed in persuading 
a million of his countrymen to renounce tht; yoke of Rome and build 
Protestant chapels, but the result would be largely limited to a 
change of nomenclature. Before long the dissenters would march 

■ in procession with a wonder-working tooth of John Wesley or kiss 
a shred from the petticoat of the Holy Maid of Kent. They would 
groan at the mention of Rome, but exorcise spooks with the initials 
of Ulric Zwinglit and abstain from work on the anniversary of every 
Protestant martyr. They would try to redeem drunkards by sprink- 
ling them with consecrated water from the holy rivers of Kansas, 



and celebrate Arbor Day only by invoking the spirit of Prof. G. P. 
Marsh, as a patron- saint of ch' mate- improving forests. Under the 
stimulus of industrial influences^ they might transfer the cross from 
way-side shrines to telegraph-poles, but they would persist In the 
worship of sorrow. 

The creed which has turned the happiest countries of our globe 
into a grave of their former prosperity, is a medley of miraculism 
and anti-naturalisrn, and the experience of the last century has proved 
that both can survive the repudiation of Rome and even of Galdee. 
The mania of renunciation, after the abolishment of monasteries and 
nunneries, continued its dismal rites in Quaker-garb and Shaker 
temples of celibacy. The miracle- hunger of millions who have learned 
to scorn the clumsy tricks of the cowled exorcist, gratifies its appe- 
tite in the mystic gloom of the dark cabinet. Rustic supernatural- 
ists, deprived of such hixuries, indemnify themselves by retailing 
the marvels of the serpent charm and joint-snake superstition. 

A curious psychological problem suggests itself in the question 
how far the charm of the *^ sour-grape philosophy'' may contribute 
to the persistence of certain forms of moral nihilism. Condemned 
criminals almost invariably ** renounce the vanities" of a life which 
the Court of Appeals has refused to save, and in a scaffold-speech, 
quoted in Galignani's Mt^sscfi^cr of May 6th, 1837, the Enghsh mur- 
derer Joseph Greenacre expressed his conviction that his crime had 
been the means of saving his soul, because ** death on the gibbet 
was one of the surest passports to heaven." 

For similar reasons degenerate nations, after realising the doom 
of their national welfare, are apt to renounce the glory of a forfeited 
world, and to consider misery, poverty, and shame so many stepping- 
stones to the bliss of a better life beyond the grave. After habitual 
sins against the health-laws of nature have avenged themselves in 
cureless diseases, decrepit bigots may find solace even in that most 
insane tenet of their dualistic creed which teaches them to despise 
the body as tlie enemy of the souL 

A natural effect of pessimism may thus, in course of time, be- 
come one of its perpetuating causes. 

Felix L. Oswald. 


A LTHOUGH the internal structure of the brain of insects has 
h\ been the object of numerous and important investigations, 
among which we must place those of Dietl, Flogel, Bellonci, and 
Viallanes (who have applied the method of sections to the stud}- 
of this organ), no attention has as yet been paid to the other 
nerve-centres of insects, and in particular to the ganglia of the ven- 
tral chain. Writers have contented themselves with describing the 
external form of these ganglia, and their anatomical relations to the 
other organic parts ; but nothing has been done to throw light upon 
their inward structure. All the knowledge which we have on this 
subject is ver}' meagre and dates far back to the works of the old 
writers, who, like Newport, had at their disposal no other means of 
study than the microscopic examination of organs viewed either 
transparently or in dilacerated preparations. A method so defective 
could render but incomplete results, and indeed in many cases erro- 
neous ones. 

We have sought to supply this much to be regretted lack of 
entomological knowledge, by applying to the ventral ganglia of in- 
sects the admirable method of sectional cutting, which has brought 
about such marked advances in contemporaneous zoology. 

I need hardly insist on the interest of this research. We shall 
only remark that all anatomical study bears an unfinished aspect, up 
to the moment at which we grasp the meaning of the organs which 
we describe ; physiology is a necessary complement of anatomy, it 
is that which gives to it a meaning. Therefore, when we dissect an 

36 IHK MoNISl. 

orj,^an. which, a> in the case of an insect's brain, is endowed with 
the most complex psNxhical properties of which these animals are 
capable, we tin* I ourselves in the presence of parts whose functions 
almost entirely escape us. What is. lor e.xample. that peculiar organ 
to which we have jj^iven the name of the "pedunculate" body? 
Anatomists have described with the greatest care its connections 
and portrayed its external contour : but we cannot discover, or even 
conjecture its uses. It would be necessary to understand the habits 
of thoui[^ht and the feelings of an insect, to be able to assign a role to 
parts so complex and so delicate as those contained within its brain. 
The study of the ventral j^anjj^lia seems to us to be capable of 
conducting us to a better result, for in everything that concerns these 
nerve-masses, physiology is more advanced, and. in all cases, clearer. 
The ganglia of the thorax, for example, are in the main niotory cen- 
tres ; the principal nerves that are sent out from them are to be 
found in the wings and in the feet : the study of the terrestrial, 
aquatic, and aerial locomotion of insects has already formed the sub- 
ject of quite a number of important scientific works ; we are now 
upon well-known ground, and we may hope that it will be possible 
to establish some connection between the anatomical structure of 
ventral ganglia and the functions which these ganglia control. 

This liope appears to us to be the more legitimate, because we 
can make use of all the resources of comparative anatomy to work 
out the i)roblem. If we consider any particular function, for ex- 
ample, that of Hying, we notice that in species which resemble each 
other this function is exercised under totally different conditions ; 
' the same organ acquires different uses, and these variations become 

J singularly instructive when we can trace their relationship to the 

])articular structure of a nerve-ganglion. Thus, one of the large 
I wings of the dragon -ily, which is almost like a bird in the range and 

■ power of its flight, becomes the clytrum of the beetle ; the elytruni 

is a stiff wing covered by chitinised matter anil serving as a protection 
to a part of the thorax and abdomen. Sometimes the elytrwm is 
used in Hying, as in the case of the cockchafer. In other lamellicorn 
insects, in the Cctonia for instance, tlie clytrum is not used in flight ; 
it merely moves aside so as to allow the second pair of wings to un- 


fold. Its role becomes still less active in the golden carabus, in Pro- 
crustes, in Bia/»s, and many other Coleoptcra, whose two elytra are 
found on one vertical line, and form but one single and immov- 
able portion ; then the second pair of wings disappear ; from the 
physiological point of view, the animal becomes apterous. In an- 
other and different order, the order Diptera^ it is the second pair of 
wings that undergo an important modification ; they cease to be used 
in flying, and are transformed into an organ of equipoise : they are 
used for maintaining equilibrium. 

All these physiological variations, taking place in the selfsame 
organ, must in all probability have their counterpart in the internal 
anatomy of the ganglion that governs the organ, and the compara- 
tive study of this ganglion in different species will enable us per- 
haps to discover the functions of some of its parts. Thus, if we 
consider by hypothesis, as the nerve-centre of flight, some small lobe 
which is found occupying this or that place in a thoracic ganglion, 
the disappearance or modification of this lobe in species not pos- 
sessing the faculty of flying, miglit serve to throw additional light 
upon such an interpretation. 

What we have just said with regard to flight is equally appli- 
cable to terrestrial locomotion, which also represents in itself many 
varieties. The typal insect possesses three pairs of feet, whence 
the name of hexapods, l)ut there are particular species which drop 
a pair of feet, for instance, the Lepidoptera of the genus Vanessa ; in 
others, the physiological functton of the foot varies ; in the case of 
the carrion-beetle (a necrophagus coleopter) it serves as an instrument 
of tillage, to dig with ; for the cricket, the third pair of feet are used 
for the purpose of leaping ; for the DytiscuSy it serves as an oar, 
and so on. We must also bear in mind the curious fact that there 
exists in the larvae of certain insects what are called supplementary 
feet, having only a transient existence and disappearing at maturity ; 
the caterpillar, the larva of the butterfly, has five pairs of supi)le- 
mentary feet. These notable facts demonstrated by comparative 
anatomy, cannot fail to furnish us with valuable information con- 
cerning the functions of the complex organs found in the ganglia 
of the thorax. 


But this is not all. We have not enumerated all the contribu- 
tions of comparative anatomy to the problem which we are now about 
to consider ; we may make use of the method of comparison without 
bringing the different types into juxtaposition, but by viewing the 
nervous system of only a single animal in its entirety. We know in 
fact that the body of an insect is formed by a definite number of 
segments, all constructed on the same fundamental plan and arranged 
in a linear series. Each one of these segments is joined to a nerve- 
ganglion, which is all its own and supplies it with sensibility and 
motility, the two elementary properties of nervous activity. In the 
course of development, these ganglia have the power of changing 
their positions ; and it is not vmcommon to find that the greater 
number of the abdominal ganglia move up into the thorax ; each 
one, nevertheless, retaining its nerve-relationship to its own seg- 
ment. Now all the segments of an insect's body are not called upon 
to play the same role ; a division of labor has been effected among 
them with regard to the functions which they are found to exercise: 
as we have already seen, the ganglia of the thorax are essentially 
centres of locomotion ; in the head, one of the ganglia, the sub- 
oesophageal, furnishes the nerves of the buccal portions ; the other 
one, the brain, is connected w^ith particular nerves and becomes 
the centre of the highest form of psychical activity of which the 
creature is capable. We have here a number of modifications super- 
added to the original plan. Yet the original plan should again be 
met with in the ganglia that have been least differentiated, such as 
those in the abdominal region ; and the comparison between an ab- 
dominal and a thoracic ganglion, for instance, is well calculated to 
show what are the primal and fundamental structures, and what 
are the secondary ones which have been superadded and have be- 
come necessary for the execution of the more complex functions. 
The study of embryonic and larval forms so easily observed in in- 
sects, will most probably conduct us to the same result. And thus 
perhaps by continuous efforts, all guided by the same governing 
idea, we shall ultimately arrive at the analoj»ies that exist between 
the cerebroid ganglia and the humblest ganglia belonging to the ven- 


tral chain, and thus finally be able to understand the action of the 

The importance of this object, which, be it clearly understood, 
can never be attained except by the united effort of many workers, 
is well calculated to command our strenuous exertions and to encour- 
age us in surmounting the difficulties of a study which is as yet al- 
most entirely new. 

We shall restrict ourselves in this article to the consideration of 
one particular case ; we shall describe a single ganglion of the insect. 
The type we have chosen, for reasons too lengthy to enumerate, is a 
Coleopter of the family of Melolonthidoe ; the Rhizotrogus solstitialis, 
a small beetle very commonly found in the southwest of France. 
We will now proceed to the consideration of the first thoracic gang- 

The prothoracic ganglion in the rhizotrogus is joined by very 
short connective filaments to the second thoracic ganglion, and also 
to the sub-oesophageal ganglion ; this latter ganglion, we must note 
en passant, being situated in the thorax. If with a pair of scissors 
we sever the head of the rhizotrogus, we find that the remainder of 
the body contains not only the thoracic ganglia, but also the sub- 
oesophageal ; a peculiarity which, from a physiological point of view, 
is very interesting. 

The ganglion of the pro-thorax, which is greater in width than 
it is in length, bears a vague resemblance to a cone the base of 
which is turned towards the sub-cesophageal ganglion, whilst the apex 
points towards the second ganglion of the thorax. From the lower 
part spring two large nerves, their starting-point being nearer the 
ventral than the dorsal surface, a fact clearly comprehended when 
we find that the fibres of these nerves extend for the most part into 
the first pair of feet, that is to say, into those organs that lie under- 
neath the horizontal plane of the ganglion. The connective fila- 
ments which penetrate the ganglion anteriorly enter it nearer the 
dorsal surface than the ventral, this last being extremely convex. 
Dissection throws no additional light upon the anatomy of the gan- 



glion. But by means of a series of sections, we find that it is com* 
posed of a mass of fibrillar substance which occupies its centre por- 
tion and of a layer of nerve-cells surrounding the fibrillar substance. 
This fibrillar mass is, owing to its great volume, far the most im- 
portant, and constitutes in itself alone about four fifths of the organ. 
The fibrillary structure can only be satisfactorily analysed by using 
on it osmic acid, or other equivalent reagents which dissociate it and 
admit of its being reduced to a certain number of clearly differen- 
tiated elements. Whenever osmic acid or a similar reagent has not 
been employed, or has not sufficiently penetrated the ganglion, owing 
to the obstacle presented by a thick conjunctival covering or en- 
velopej the fibrillar substance takes on a homogeneous aspect that 
eHectually renders all analysis of it impossible. Everything depends 
on the employment of a good method of preparation. 

When the ganglion has been properly prepared, we perceive a 
very material difference in the appearance of the fibrillar substance 
w^hen we compare the dorsal with the ventral region of the ganglion. 
We can do this very satisfactorily by a longitudinal section, ex- 
tending through both regions. In such a section close to the median 
line but not confounded with it (see Cut i6)* we perceive that the ven- 
traJ region is occupied by a cord or string of substance which owing 
to the action of the osmic acid has become very blacky and which is 
formed of so dense a tissue, that we can with difficulty separate it 
into fibres and fibrillae. This cord, which, by reason of its position and 
shape. T propose naming the nnira! tohunn, extends over the ventral 
surface of the ganglion in a longitudinal direction ; at both its anterior^ 
and posterior extremities it is carried on by fibres extending into the 
ventral columns of the other ganglia* in such a manner that the en- 
tire series of ganglia are united by one continuous ventral cord. 

If we look at a transverse section (see Cut 26), the cord, which 
is recognised by its dark color and by its position near the ventral 
surface of the fibrillar substance, will be seen to have the form of 
two almost perfect circles. The ventral column thus presents a 
circular section, is duplex and symmetrical : there exist two separate 

* For the cats, see the plates Id the Appendix of this nomber. 


and distinct ventral columns, separate at least for a certain length ; 
a fact which must be considered in connection with the primitive 
duality of the ganglion. 

In every section where the columns remain distinct from each 
other, they are separated either by fibres and conjunctival cells, 
or by nerve-fibres emanating from the cells of the ventral region 
and proceeding in an upward direction between the two columns. 
At the other points, the two columns join on the median line. This 
union is effected in different ways, either by the two columns coming 
directly together, thus merging into a single mass, or by a commis- 
sure which describes the arc of a circle underneath the two columns, 
or else by the inferior ventral lobule. 

We give the name of inferior ventral lobule to a small lobule 
of fibrillar substance, situated beneath the ventral column. When 
looked at in a horizontal section not passing through the median 
line (see Cut 17), this lobule presents the appearance of a rounded 
protuberance, breaking the almost rectilinear contour of the ventral 
column. As this characteristic peculiarity is repeated in the internal 
structure of all the ganglia, we may use it to ascertain the number of 
the ganglia, whenever these present the appearance of being fused 
into one compact mass ; we may see the practical application of this 
remark by observing the sub- oesophageal ganglion. 

In a succession of horizontal sections, the starting point of which 
is the ventral region, the first mass of fibrillar substance met with 
by the knife is the inferior ventral lobule, which is formed (see Cut i) 
by two rounded fasciculi, placed symmetrically on either side of the 
median line and joined together by a transverse commissure. 

In these sections, we also perceive fibres of the crural nerve, 
which, after having extended over a certain length of the ganglion, 
penetrate into the substance of the inferior ventral lobule (Cut 2). 
In transverse sections (Cut 23) we find the two ventral lobules placed 
beneath the two columns which they help to support, and into which 
they gradually merge ; and we also perceive the transverse commis- 
sure which joins the two. We shall call this the transverse commis- 
sure of the inferior ventral lobule. 

Let us now pass on to the examination of the upper surface of 


the ventral column. This surface is covered by a cluster of very fine 
fibrils rather sparsely disposed ; we can clearly follow their course 
by means of a longitudinal section (Cut 17); we see them again in a 
horizontal section (Cut 5). To continue the general description of 
the ganglion we must now consider the dorsal region. It is, as we 
have previously stated, occupied by a fibrillar substance not so dense 
as that which composes the ventral column, and we will give the gen- 
eral name of dorsal lobe to this region, reserving the name ventral 
lobe for the region which embraces the ventral column and its adjoin- 
ing parts. The dorsal lobe presents as its distinctive characteristic 
the feature that it is crossed longitudinally by a succession of con 
nective filaments clearly seen in the longitudinal section of Cut 16. 

We have already stated that the ventral column receives fibres 
issuing from the ganglion in front and sends out others to the gang- 
lia in the rear. We shall call the totality of these fibres the connec- 
five ventral filaments, and shall call the totality of those that traverse 
the dorsal lobe the dorsal connective filaments. 

The connective filaments which join the sub-cesophageal to the 
first thoracic ganglion, and which, between these two ganglia, are 
composed of a dense fasciculus of fibres, distribute these fibres, at 
the point at which they enter the prothoracic ganglia, in different 
directions ; one set of fibres proceeds towards the ventral column, 
these are the ventral connective filaments : a second set traverses 
the dorsal lobe, and are the dorsal connective filaments. 

Whilst the ventral connective filaments soon merge into the 
very dense substance of the ventral column, the dorsal connective 
filaments, on the contrary, remain distinct from the organs which 
they traverse, and preserve their individuality throughout. They 
take directions in three different planes (see Cut 16), consequently 
they can be subdivided into superior, medial, and inferior dorsal con- 
nective filaments. 

Newport seems to have observed this distinction of fibres ; and 
he has given the name of sensory column to this first division, 
and that of motor column to the second. Unfortunately the draw- 
ings and figures he has published, though schematically correct, 
are not clear. We do not adopt his terminology, in the first place 


because he designates the organs after their supposed functions, 
and we have made it a rule never to use controvertible physiological 
suppositions to designate anatomical organs ; and besides, though 
the name of column is applicable to the connective ventral filaments. 
we cannot apply it to the connective dorsal filaments, which are sub- 
divided into three pairs of fibrous fasciculi and do not in the least 
resemble a column. 

In the study of Meloloniha vu/j^aris, we have l)een able to estab- 
lish in the most absolute manner that there exists a considerable 
histological difference between the connective filaments of the ven- 
tral region and those of the dorsal. Though we have not yet noticed 
• this difference in R/iizotrogus in any marked degree, nevertheless it 
has seemed to us needful to point it out here, because the fact is of 
such vast importance that it cannot fail to be general. The dorsal 
connective filaments, whilst they preserve their individuality in 
their passage across the dorsal lobe of the ganglion, ]>enetrate never- 
theless into some small masses of dotted substance which are found 
in the path of their entrance into the ganglion. The mass annex(;d 
to the inferior dorsal connective filament, is above all very impor- 
tant and is directly connected with the ventral column. As the con- 
nective filaments are in pairs, each of these possesses a distinct 
mass of fibrillar substance and both the masses attached to the same 
pair of connective filaments are joined by a commissure. 

Let us now say a few words about the n«;rves which j)roceed 
toward the prothoracic ganglion. There exists here but one single 
pair of nerves, extremely important and very extensive. This is 
the crural nerve. To this nerve are attached the organs which are 
superadded to the primary structure of the ganghon, surh ;is we 
have described it, and which in consequence renders the primitive 
structure more complex. We shall perceive the importance attached 
to the idea of a superaiiiied organ, when we study the abdominfil 
ganglia, where the organs we are about to describe are either com- 
pletely wanting or are but imperfectly developed. 

If now we examine a transversal section taken a little in front 
of the place from whence the crural nerves emerge Ctjt i'^,, v.e 
shall notice that the central part of the ganglion is <><,<w\i\fA by th*: 



ventral column and the upper part by the dorsal lobe. In addition 
to this, in the lateral regions of the ganglion we find two important 
masses of fibrillar substance. At this point these two masses remain 
distinct from the parts we have just mentioned, and on the other hand 
they are in connection with the crural nerves. The latter send a part^ 
and unquestionably the greater part, of their fibres into the lateral 
lobes. In a section slightly posterior to the preceding one, also trans- 
versal, a very important change has taken place; the two lateral lob- 
ules, always connected with the crural nerves, have also established 
connections with the centre of the ganglion, and in the sections fur- 
ther on the fusion is complete. As these lateral lobules possess the 
characteristics mentioned, only at the point at which the crural 
nerves emerge, we shall call them the crura! lobrs. Thus we find in 
the prothoracic ganglion three priocipa! lobes ; ( i ) the crural lobe, 
which is double, symmetrical, and lateral, (2) the* dorsal lobe, (3) 
the ventral lobe. These two last, in contradistinction to the crural 
lobe, will be classed together under the common term central iobe. 

And now to finish this summary description of the prothoracic 
ganglion, we will point out an important disposition of the connec- 
tive tissue which divides the ganglion into two halves, one anterior, 
the other posterior. We can easily understand this disposition by 
looking at a longitudinal section passing exactly through the median 
line. From the dorsal surface of the ganglion, may be seen descend- 
ing a bundle of cells and connective fibres, which, in the form of 
a column, are directed toward the centre of the ganglion ; these 
cells and fibres do not meet any important organ on their way, the 
dorsal connective filaments always taking a lateral course, A fas- 
ciculus, similarly composed of cells and conjunctival fibres, starting 
from the ventral surface of the ganglion, appears to meet this con- 
junctival cohimn (Cut 18). This curious disposition appears to be, 
as M. Henneguy has ingeniously suggested to me, a trace of the an- 
terior development of the ganglion which had been formed of two 
distinct portions that have been naturally welded together along 
the median line ; the connective fasciculi corresponding to the point 
where the welding has been incomplete, and representing the sur- 
vival of a portion of the walls of the two ganglia* 




As ihe ganglion which we have just described contains some 
siructura! diificuhies not easy of comprehension, let us proceed 
with our description under another form, following: the order of our 

Figure i is the first horizontal section* cut through the ventral 
region of the ganglion ; the knife has here met the lower ventral 
lobule, which at this point shows itself double ; the two halves being 
joined by a double transversal commissure. Section 2, made at a point 
a little higher than the preceding one, shows us at the centre the 
low^er ventral lobule as increased in size ; and in the lateral part of 
the figure appears a new organ, the crural lobule, which is here en 
tirely merged into the lower ventral lobule. The crural lobule is trav- 
ersed by fibres from the crural nerve, which instead of being entirely 
lost in its substance, proceed still further, passing into the lower ven- 
tral lobule. Section 3 merely brings into prominence an important 
transversal commissure. In Section 4, the inferior ventral lobule 
is replaced by the ventral column, which appears double, is sym 
metrical, and united by a transversal commissure; this commissure 
being formed of fibrillar substance. The ventral column is closely 
connected on each side with the crural lobule ; it ts besides crossed 
by the ventral connective fibres, which can be seen emerging from 
its anterior and posterior extremities. Section 5 allows us to examine 
thoroughly the disposition of those ventral connective fibres ; we see 
that while they penetrate the ganglion, they also pass through two 
symmetrical masses of fibrillar substance ; these two masses, which 
we name the anterior ventral lobules, are joined together by a trans- 
versal commissure* After having traversed the anterior ventral lob- 
ales, to which it appears they give a portion of their fibres, the 
ventral connective filaments pass through the ganglion in an antero- 
posterior direction, and we see them penetrating the two posterior 
ventral lobules. The last named lobules, which remind us by their 
position and appearance of the anterior lobules, receive in addition 
fibres issuing from the crural lobules ; but they do not receive them 
all, because we notice quite a number of these fibres advancing 



directly into the second thoracic ganghon. After emerging from the 
posterior ventral lobules, the ventral connective filaments pass into 
the second thoracic ganglion, where we see thein penetrate into the 
anterior ventral lobules. 

With Figure 6, we leave the ventral lobe of the ganglion and 
come to the lower portions of the dorsal lobule. The important 
filaments crossing this section from the front to the back are called 
lower dorsal connective filaments. We notice as they proceed some 
small masses of dotted substance, and, in addition to these, dark 
colored dots which are the result of the knife having cut crosswise 
through several fascicles of ascending fibres. W'e shall find out by 
means of the sections taken from different parts and placed so as to 
allow of our better observation, what these ascending fibres are. 
The crural lobule, always exhibits the same characteristics. We 
have given it a homogeneous aspect in our drawing. As a fact it 
presents in its sections a vast number of structural details. But 
these details being very difficult to understand, we prefer not to dwell 
upon them. 

Section 7 passes through the very midst of the lower dorsal con- 
nective filaments ; these filaments being in two pairs, one external 
and the other internaL The external pair, situated somewhat lower, 
has here disappeared, and the inner pair is the only one to be seen. 
Some transversal fibres, whose direction appears to me difficult to 
follow, divide the inside dorsal connective filaments at two different 
points, and assume the figure of a square ; this square has two black 
dots, produced by the section of the ascending fibres, 

A bttle higher, in Figure 8, the lower connective filaments have 
disappeared and the fibrillar substance of the ganglion is furrowed 
by long transversal fibres, of which a part seems to ser\'e the func- 
tion of joining the two crural lobules, whilst the remainder, pro- 
ceeding towards the black dots before mentioned, continue their pro- 
gress with the fasciculi of ascending fibres. These are no other than 
ascending fibres which, having changed their direction at the plane 
of the section, proceed almost in a horizontal plane. In Section 9 we 
follow the course of the medial dorsal connective filaments, sep- 
arated from the lower connective filaments by the fibres having a 


transverse direction, seen in Figure 8. The medial dorsal connective 
filaments are four in number, an outer pair and an inner pair. At the 
moment when they leave the prothoracic ganglion, they cross a region 
where the fibrillar substance is both thicker and darker. In Figure 
lo the medial connective filaments are on the point of disappearing ; 
they receive certain fibres coming from the crural lobules, which 
are now reduced in dimensions. Section ii shows us the lower 
dorsal connective filaments, which are the slenderest of all and of 
which there are but one pair ; the crural lobule now disappears. In 
the middle of the figure, we observe a small collection of conjunc- 
tival cells which, as we have supposed, indicates the point where in 
the course of development the two symmetrical portions of the gan- 
glion have not been perfectly fused together. Finally Section 12 
shows two lateral masses of fibrillar substance, separated by a strip 
of conjunctival membrane. 

We will now take up the series of longitudinal sections, the study 
of which will demand very special attention. We shall there meet 
again with the organs which we have already examined in the hori- 
zontal sections ; and we shall perceive that the alterations and mod- 
ifications presented to us by the difference in our point of observa- 
tion, bring out very important changes in the appearance of those 
organs. The sectional method of examination is also one of anal- 
ysis. In order to reconstruct an organ in its complete form and to 
conceive of it in space, our mind must bring into a single focus what 
the sections have represented in a fragmentary^ manner : we must, 
in short, substitute synthesis for analysis. 

Figure 13 represents the first and exterior longitudinal sec- 
tion ; it hardly touches the ganglion ; in the front we see the start- 
ing point of the crural nerve, and also a portion of the periphery of 
the crural lobule. The crural nerve exhibits several roots, the 
most important of which occupy the ventral region. Figure 14, 
though very elementary, brings out many important points ; we see 
here the crural lobule, which has increased in size and extends 
from the ventral to the dorsal region ; a fact which has already been 
indicated in the horizontal sections, the crural lobule having been 
shown in them at all points. This lobule is almost circular in form. 



Along its ventral region, we perceive some of the filiresof the crural 
nerve which do not penetrate into the lobule ; these are the ones 
we met with in the figurt;s 2 and 3 : they are the fibres which pass 
directly into the lower ventral lobule. With Section 15, we leave the 
lateral regions of the ganglion and come to the dorsal and ventral 
regions ; we must notice that thtr crural lobule is continuous with the 
central fibrillar mass and has no precise limits. In Section 15 the 
ventral colonin appears, reduced in size. In the front of it we ob- 
serve an incisure through which certain nerve-cells send their pro- 
longations into the ftbrillar substance. 

Figure 16 shows us the complete junction of all the connective 
filaments traversing the ganglion ; first the ventral column, with the 
connective ventral filaments starting from both its extremities ; and 
then the three dorsal connective filaments, which preserve their in- 
dividuality distinct, while they cross the dorsal lobe of the ganglion. 
The lower dorsal connective filament is distinguished from the others 
by a small compact mass of fibrillar substance through which it 
passes. We must note that the fibrillar substance becomes thicker, 
at the point where the whole series of connective filaments enter the 
ganglion^ and the same thing is repeated at the place where they 
leave the first thoracic ganglion to enter into the second. The ven- 
tral colonin is distinguished from the other parts of the ganglion by 
the dark color which it assumes through the action of the osmic 
acid I it presents black granules which, examined with a strong lens» 
show small fasciculi of fibres running in a parallel direction. The 
ceils which Vmn the lower surface of the ventral column do not throiv 
out any prolongations ; they are exceedingly small, but do not other- 
wise present any special feature. 

Figure 17 is but very slightly different from the preceding one : 
the ventral column ts simply strengthened on its lower surface by the 
lower ventral lobule. The position of this lobule is interesting to 
note. We have already mentioned that each ganglion is divided 
into two halves by a column of conjunctival tissue, one anterior 
and the other posterior. In Section 17 we see the granulated pro- 
jection of the ventral portion of this conjunctival column. In order 
to simplify it we have shown no conjunctival tissuti in our illustra- 


tion. We may nevertheless notice, that the ner\e-cells at the point 
marked c. c. seem to separate one from the other, and show a tri- 
angular space between them, filled with conjunctival cells. If the 
segment had not been cut so obliquely, -and this obliqueness in the 
sections is almost unavoidable when dealing with such veiy- small 
organs, ) we should also perceive on the dorsal line of the section the 
projection of the dorsal part of the conjunctival column : in fact we 
shall see this projection in the figure which follows. The presence 
of the conjunctival column separates, as we have said, each ganglion 
into two parts, one anterior the other posterior. These portions are 
not at all s}*mmetrical. We see in Section 1 7 that the lower ventral 
lobule is found only in the anterior part. Finally from the ventral 
column rises an important fasciculus of ascending fibres, which we 
have already seen in the horizontal diagrams : it is difficult for us 
to ascertain what these fibres are. In the iSth and last section we 
approach nearer the median line. The ventral column at this level 
has the appearance of being divided into two trunks. The ventral 
connective filaments are clearly seen upon its upper suriace. Among 
the dorsal connective filaments the middle one alone remains visible 
and receives a certain number of fibres from the ascending fascicu- 

To complete our description let us glance at the series of trans- 
verse sections. In Figure 19 the two crural lobules have not yet 
united and are not yet merged into the dorsal -ventral lobe. This 
junction does not take place until we come to Figure 20. Here, at 
this level, we see in addition the circular segment of the two ventral 
columns, which by their dark color are sharply outlined against the 
remainder of the fibrillar substance. To the right and left of these 
two columns we perceive small masses of dotted substance : we 
merely call attention to them and shall not describe them. Figure 
21 furnishes no noteworthy modifications of the preceding. We 
simply see a few cells of the periphery- sending out their prolonga- 
tions into the fibrillar substance. The point at which they thus pene- 
trate it has already been indicated in Figure 15. In Figure 22 we 
have a section of several dorsal connective filaments : among others 
a lower root of the crural ner\'e is here seen to pass along the ven- 



tral surface of the fibrillar substance without penetrating into the 
crural lobule. Does there exist an upper root of the same nerve, 
which follows the upper surface of the dotted substance ? We do 
not dare to decide the question. One thing is certain, and that is 
that if the nerve does exist it is accompanied along its path by a great 
number of widely ramified trachea^, of which we see a drawing in tr. 
In the three figures which follow (23, 24, 25) the ventral column 
presents an interesting series of modifications. First of all, in Figure 
23, it is surrounded by the lower ventral lobule, of which the two 
masses are in a lateral position, and whose commissures pass un* 
derneath the column. We see in the same Figure 23 the two lower 
roots of the crural nerve, advancing towards the column. In the 
24th section the two roots have reached the cohmm, and two other 
nerves cross the crural lobule ; doubtless their destination is the 
lower dorsal connective filaments, but of this we have no clear in- 
dication. In the 24th section two other crural roots also enter 
the lower ventral lobule. This section is very favorable for the ex- 
amination of the ascending fasciculus which we have already noticed 
in the longitudinal sections. It seems to us certain that this fascic- 
ulus terminates in the middle dorsal connective filaoient. Its origin 
is more uncertain. It seems to spring from the ventral column, or 
else to come from crural roots which, after having traversed the 
crural lobule, reascend towards the dorsal lobe of the ganglion, de- 
scribing a curve exteriorily concave. It is possible that this ascend- 
ing fasciculus has both these origins. The 26th and last section 
shows us the ventral column on a larger scale; the two columns 
being distinct from each other, though united at the lower extremity 
by a commissure. The ensembic of the figure strikingly reminds one 
of a section of the abdominal ganglion* 

Here our description ends. We have not sought to follow up 
every fibre in all its details, nor to describe completely the anatom> 
of each organ. Our intention has merely been to give a synthetic 
notion of a nervous ganglion. Subsequent studies made on other 
ganglia will demonstrate the general application of this idea. 

Alfred Binet. 



\ MONG all the forms of government class government is the 
'-\ worst. Carthage was governed by merchants, and the mer- 
cantile spirit of its policy led finally to the destruction of the city. 
Sparta was governed by warriors, and in spite of the glor>- of Ther- 
mopylae it was doomed to stagnation. India was governed by priests, 
and the weal of the nation was sacrificed with reckless indifference 
to their interests. It appears that for the welfare of the community 
the harmonious co-operation of all classes is not only desirable but 
also indispensable. 

Yet it is often claimed that mankind is greatly indebted to na- 
tions or states ruled by class government, for having worked out the 
particular occupation of the niling class to a perfection which other- 
wise it would not have reached. This is at least doubtful. 

Carthage was eager to establish monopolies, but she contributed 
little to the higher development of commerce and trade among man- 

Sparta raised brave men, but was not progressive, even in the 
science of war, and was worsted by so weak an adversary* as Thebes. 
Modem strategists could learn something from Epaminondas, but 
little, if anything, from the Lacedaemonians. 

Priestcraft has attained to a power in India unparalleled in the 
histor}' of other nations, and it is no exaggeration to say that priest- 
rule was the ruin of the country-. Yet the wisdom of the Brahman s 
has become proverbial. Their philosophy is praised as original and 
profound, and it is well known that the first monistic world-concep- 



tion was thou^Oit out in ancient India. But we shall see later on 
what the real share of the Brahmans in this great work has been 

In the very earliest ages of Hindu antiquity, revealed to us in 
the songs of the Rig-veda, we meet with priests who claimed the 
power of making sacrifices to the gods in a manner especially ac- 
ceptable to them, and who thus rose to ^reat power, influence, and 
w^ealth. To this ancient period of Hindu history we can trace the 
origin of the Hindu castes, essentially a result of priestly egotism, and 
which up to this day has weighed down the Indian people like a 
nightmare. The organisation of the priestly class into an exclusive, 
privileged body, as well as the final development of the castes, did 
not, however, take place until the time represented by the second pe- 
riod of the ancient Hindu literature ; by the literature, that is to say, 
of the Yajur-vedas or the Vedas of the sacrificial formulae, and the 
Brahmanas and Sutras, both of which describe the sacrificial cere- 
monies, the former with, the latter without theological comments. 
The contents of these w^orks illustrate the origin of the Hindu hier* 
archy and castes ; but it is often necessary to read between the lines. 
The greatest authority on this rich literature^ Prof. A. Weber, of 
Berlin, in the tenth volume of the series '^ Hindu Studies " which he 
edits, has published his inquiries concerning this subject in a very 
learned treatise, entitled ** Collectanea fiber die Kastenverhaltnisse 
in der Brahmana und Sutra," of which I have made considerable use 
in the following pages. 

In these books the Brahmans assert their claims w^ith startling 
candor. In several passages— to begin with the most striking feat- 
ure— they announce themselves as real gods wandering on earth. 
** There are two kinds of gods," it is said, *' the true gods and the 
learned Brahmans, who recite the Veda,*' *^ The Brahman repre- 
sents all gods/' '* He is the god of gods." This is perhaps the most 
remarkable instance of priestly arrogance in all history. Thus it 
cannot at all surprise us that the Brahmans, as earthly gods, placed 
themselves above king and nobility j but it appears rather strange 
that the kings and warriors should have allowed to them the first 
place in the government. But as a matter of fact, they did do so 
and were compelled to do so. From mysterious legends in the great 



Hindu epic poem we infer, that bloody wars have been waged for 
supremacy, in which the nobility was defeated. 

The legends of this epos are thus important additions to the 
sources with which we are concerned. This struggle, which the 
Brahmans in all likelihood caused to be fought out for them by the 
great masses of the people, has been ascribed to the warriors hav- 
ing robbed the priests of the treasures which the latter had acquired 
by the performance of the sacrifices ; and this part of the legend is 
so highly probable that we cannot treat it as a pure niyth^ especially 
if we take into consideration the circumstances of those times. It 
was the first attempt at secularisation in the history of the worId» 
and the results were very disastrous to those who were then in 
secular power. 

The Brahmans did not establish a social hierarchy or ecclesi- 
astical ranks, nor did they participate in the government, except 
that the king was bound to employ a Brahman as Purohita or house- 
priest, who occupied as such the position of prime minister. If» 
however, they succeeded in dominating the nobility and the whole 
people, it was principally on account of their greater knowledge, of 
which they boasted, and especially on account of the sacrificial arts, 
by the proper exercise of which in those times, all favors could be 
obtained from the gods. For a duly performed sacrifice, which 
would last weeks, months, nay, years, the Brahmans charged of 
course a high fee. A fee of ten thousand oxen was prescribed for a 
certain ceremony, a hundred thousand for another one, and a later 
teacher of ritualism charged 240,000 for the same service. And this 
was not yet the climax of priestly avarice, which — to use an expres- 
sion of Professor Weber — indulges in veritable orgies in these 
books. After one has gone through the endless description of a 
ceremony, one finds at the end the remark that the whole sacrifice 
has no effect, unless the proper fee be paid to the priest. And — to 
use a term of modern life — lest competition should reduce the prices 
or spoil the business^ a rule was established, that no one should 
take a fee which another one had refused. (Weber, p. 54*) 

The sacrificial rituals, so tr\^ing and tedious for us, are the only 
literary production of these dull centuries before the rising of phil- 



osophical speculation, and the great historical importance they pos- 
sess is simply due to the light they throw on the moral depravity of 
the Brahmans as a class. 

The following fact will fully show to what extent sexual de- 
baucheries were indulged in. The priest was enjoined, by a special 
rule, not to commit adulter}^ w^ith the wife of another during a par- | 
ticularly holy ceremony. But he who could not practice continence, 
was allowed to expiate his sin by an offering of milk to Varuna and 

Numerous passages in the books on ritualism furnish us inter- 
esting illustrations of the great indulgence which the Brahmans had 
for each other's weaknesses. The officiating priest is taught how to 
proceed during the sacrifice, if he w^ants to wTong the man who em- 
ploys and pays him, or how to deviate from the prescribed rules, 
if he w^ants to rob his employer of his seeing, hearing, children, 
property, or position. The lack of confidence that resulted is best 
illustrated by a ceremony, the introduction of which, at the begin- 
ning of the sacrifice, became gradually necessary. By a solemn oath 
the officiating minister and the client bound themselves not to injure 
each other during the performance of the holy act. Consequently, 
the strange notions of right, which the Brahmans had in those times, 
will not surprise us. ** Murder of any one but a Brahman is no mur- 
der.'* *' An arbitrator must decide in favor of the Brahman and not 
in favor of his opponent, if the latter is not a Brahman.'' Such max- 
ims are laid down in the texts with shameless insolence. 

It is plain that the caste system greatly contributed to increase 
the power and influence of the priests, because in a country where 
the people are divided into classes, the priest always succeeds in 
inciting at his wish the one against the other. 

After the Brahmans came as second caste the Kshattriyas (liter- 
ally : the ruling class, i. e., king, nobility, soldiers); and as third 
caste the Vaisyas (the bulk of the people : farmers, merchants, etc.). 
The conquered non- Aryan aborigines were foreordained by the gods 
to serve the Aryan castes and especially the Brahmans. They w^ere 
called Sudras (serfs) and had neither civil nor religions rights, 
'* The Sudra is the servant of others; he can be cast out or killed." 




By this humane maxim were the Brahmans guided in their conduct 
towards the aborigines. 

With such a state of things, as it appears in the old books, the 
priesthood ought to have been well pleased. But the Brahmans 
were not : they desired still greater advantages and carried out the 
caste system to a most absurd extent. The result is embodied in 
the famous law-book of ManUi the exact date of which we do not yet 
know, but which must be placed at the beginning of our era. The 
condition of things of which I shall now speak, was accordingly de- 
veloped during the last centuries before Christ. Though we may sup- 
pose that some rules of this code have remained a mere theory and 
have never been carried out, there remains enough to show the 
social life of those times in a poor light, Koppen, in the first 
chapters of his book on Buddhism, has severely but justly judged 
the social organisation, as it appears in Manu's law-book ; but as 
the age of this code was overrated at his time, he was led to one 
erroneous conclusion : he attributes the historical process, of which 
w^e speak, to the period before Buddha, while it really took place 
after Buddha, L. von Schroder, in his work ** Indian Literature 
and History," in the twenty-ninth lecture, gives us a good view of 
those times. 

Different passages in Mann's code show us that the claim of 
the Brahmans to divinity had not decreased in the course of the 
centuries. *'The Brahmans are to be venerated at all times, as they 
are the highest divinity/' **By his very origin the Brahman is a 
^od, even to the gods/' 

The many practical privileges they enjoyed were of still greater 
value- They were exempt from taxation under all circumstances, 
'*even if the king should starve.'* For the greatest crimes they could 
not be executed or chastised, nor was their property liable to con- 
fiscationt while at the same time the criminal law was verj' harsh 
towards the other castes and especially towards the Sudras. The 
penalties increased proportionately : the lower the caste to which the 
criminal belonged, the higher the punishment -, and the fines also 
increased in proportion to the rank of the caste to which the inj'ured 
man belonged. The money-lender was allowed to exact (monthly) 


two per cent, of a Brahman, three of a Kshattnya, four of a Vaisya, 
five erf a Sudra. All these laws show how the Brahmans understood 
the art of advancing their interests. The Sudra was by the code 
deprived of all rights. '*The Brahman may consider him as a slave 
and is therefore entitled to take his property, as the property of the 
slave belongs to the master/* ^^The Sudra shall not acquire wealth, 
even if he be in a position to do so, as such conduct gives offense to 
the Brahman/' 

But all these things are harmless when compared with the prin- 
ciples by which the Brahmans reduced to the most miserable of 
lives numberless human creatures who had committed no wrong 
except that their origin did not agree with the political scheme of 
the priests. Formerly it had been lawful for the members of the 
three Aryan castes, after having married a girl of the same caste* to 
take other wives of a lower caste besides, and no disgrace attached 
to their children. The son of a Brahman and a Vaisya — or even of 
a S6dra woman — was therefore a Brahman. But this w^as no longer 
the case under the code of Manu* 

If the parents belonged to different castes, the children did not 
follow either father or mother, but they formed a mixed caste and 
the law distinctly regulates their occupations and trades. This 
theory gave birth to a great number of mixed castes, who were more 
or less despised. And the social standing of many of them grew still 
worse on account of an absurd maxim which degraded the Indian peo- 
ple to the level of grass and plants. Good seed in a bad soil gives of 
course a poorer return than in good soil ; still the crop is endurable. 
But weed introduced into good soil produces weed abundantly. 
According to this theory of the Brahmans the children were below 
the father, if he had married a wife of a higher caste. The lowest 
and most execrable creature therefore is the son of a Sudra and a 
Brahman woman. The destiny of a Sudra w^as of course hard and 
unhappy, but the misery of the offspring of such a marriage, of the 
Chandala, defies all description. *'He shall live far from the abodes 
of other men and bear signs by which everybody can recognise and 
avoid him, as his contact pollutes. Only in daytime shall he be ad- 
mitted into the villages, as then people can avoid him. He shall 


possess but common animals like dogs and donkeys, eat out of broken 
plates, put on the dresses of the dead, etc. They were compelled 
to serve as executioners. To the utmost degree of contempt and 
misery' has the proud Brahman reduced these poor creatures.*' 
(Schroder, pp. 423-424.; 

But the Chandala was not the last in the Brahmanic scale, 
which suppressed all dignity* in human nature ; his offspring, though 
he had only a wife of the Sudra caste, was necessarily still below 
him. Thus originated a great number of mixed castes, one more 
despised than the other, and despising one another. Most of these 
outcasts take their names from the Indian aborigines and are thus 
placed on the same level with the most contemptible tribes. Some 
of the things I have cited about the mixed castes, may have been 
merely a theory of the Brahmans : however, the actual existence of 
classes of people reduced by the clergy to a sort of animal life, has 
been sufficiently verified by foreign travellers. 

In modem times the separation of the p)eople has been going 
on ver\- rapidly : so much so, that nearly ever\' trade or profession 
now forms a caste of its own. having no social intercourse with, 
nor patriotic feelings for the other castes. This condition of things 
is due to the influence of the Brahmans, for it has grown out of the 
social order they have founded. 

It is not my task to arraign the Brahmans for the sins they ha-.e 
committed : but simply to illustrate to my readers, how little they 
cared for and had at heart the interests of their people. One will, 
upon the whole, feel inclined to denounce the selfishness an'i im- 
morality of the Brahmans, but on the other hand will acknowledge 
with admiration the inrellecttiai work they have done. ^rA irjT%:'/fs 
them much for the profoiind thoughts with which they have en- 
riched their countr/ and the whole world. Is it not the wis^lonr. of 
the Brahmans that has given to the word India a sound that stirs 
the hearts of aii to whom :he 5trugl^e for the highest tr :th appears 
as the highest phenomenon in the hiitorj- of civilisation? h :z s ap- 
pose it can be shown that the greatest of all the wisdom of the Brah- 
man, the monistic doctrine of the All-in-One. which has had the 


greatest influence on the intellectual life of modern times, was not 
discovered by them ? 

Before I enter on this question, of the greatest importance from 
an historical point of view, I will give a short sketch of the period 
of Indian history in which this doctrine was established. 

For centuries the Brahmans had heaped sacrifice on sacrifice 
and multiplied symbolical explanations without end. All this dis- 
tinctly bore the stamp of priestly sophistry. Suddenly higher 
thoughts arise* The learning handed down by tradition and the 
sacrificial system are^ it is true, not altogether abandoned ; the mind, 
however, is no longer satisfied with the mysteries of the sacrifices, 
but aims at higher and more sublime truth. The age of intellectual 
darkness is followed by a new era, the characteristic of which is the 
ambition to solve the problems of life and to understand the relation 
of the individual to the absolute. All the efforts of the human mind 
are now bent on solving the question of the eternal Unity, from 
whicli all phenomena have emanated and which every one perceives 
within his own self. It is the age of the Upanishads, those famous 
books, which, as soon as they were known in Europe, filled all 
scholars with wild enthusiasm and admiration. I refer only to 
the old Upanishads, that date from the eij^^hth to the sixth century 
B. c, not to the great number of books of the same name, but not of 
the same value — there are over 200 of them — which appeared after 
the Christian era. The Upanishads reveal the struggle of the mind 
to reach the highest truth. Though they indulge occasionally in 
strange speculations^ still the idea of Brahma, of the universal soul, 
of the absolute, of the thing in itself, is the ever- recurring subject 
of their thoughts, which culminate in the idea that the Atman, the 
inner self of man, is naught but the eternal and endless Brahma. A 
wonderful pathos animates the language of the Upanishads and tes- 
tifies to the sublitne feelings in which the thinkers of those times 
sought the great mystery of existence. They look for all kinds of 
expressions, metaphors and figures, in order to couch in words what 
cannot be described by words. We read for instance in the vener* 
able Brihadaranyaka Upanishad : '*That which lives on the earth, 
but is different from the earth, that which is the moving power of 


the earth, that is your Self, the inner immortal ruler." The same 
is predicated of water, fire, ether, wind, sun, moon, and stars ; and 
then the chapter ends as follows : ** Unseen, he sees ; unheard, he 
hears ; unminded, he minds ; unknown, he knows. There is none 
that sees but he; there is none that hears but he: there is none that 
minds but he; there is none that knows but he. He is thy soul, the 
inner ruler. Whatever is different from him, is perishable." 

In the same celebrated Upanishad appears a woman, named 
Gargi, and moved by thirst of knowledge she inquires of the wise 
Yajnavalkya : ** That which is beyond the sky and beneath the earth, 
and between sky and earth, that which is, was, and shall be, in what 
and with what is it interwoven ( that is : in what does it live and 
move)?" Yajnavalkya, in order to tr}' the intellectual power of the 
woman, gives an evasive answer : " In the ether." But Gargi. per- 
ceiving that this answer did not contain the final truth, asks : *• In 
what is the ether woven ?" And Yajnavalkya replied : '* O Gargi, 
that is what the Brahman calls the Eternal : it is neither big, nor 
small, nor large, nor short, without connection, without contact : by 
the Eternal are ruled heaven and earth, sun and moon, days and 
nights ; the power of the Eternal directs the rivers south or west or 
to any other point of the compass. Whoever parts from this world 
without having understood the Etemah is miserable." 

In the Chandogya Upanishad. a book of no less importance, 
the same wisdom is taught by a man named Uddalaka to his son 
Shvetaketu in the form of several parables. We see them standing 
in front of a Nyagrodha tree, that kind of fig-tree that ever\'where 
sends roots from the branches down to the ground, thus producing 
new trunks, until in the course of time t-ne tree resembles a green 
pillared hall. And in front of such a tree, the most beautiful symbol 
of ever-youthful nature, the following conversation takes place be- 
tween father and son : - Get me a fruit of this tree.'* — *• Here it is." 
— •• Break it." — "It is broken." — --What do you see in it?" — --I 
see quite small kernels." — •• Break one of them." — - It is broken." — 
**What do you see in it?" — •• Nothing." — Then the father said: 
* The fine matter that you cannot see has pro-^iuced this big tree, 



and believe me, my dear son, this same matter, of which the earth 
is composed, is the Absokite, tl^ Universal Soul, — it is you/' 

The eternal ground of all existence which ever>^ one carries in 
himself, Being as it is in itself, and as it is immediately perceived in 
thinking, was, accordingly recognised as the sole reality, and all 
the manifold changes of the phenomenal world were called Maya, 
a sham, a delusion, a mockery of the senses. We see, it is a con- 
sistent monism which is taught in the Upanishads. 

I do not intend here either to criticise the Brahman concep- 
tion of monism or to contrast it with modern forms of monism. All 
monisms have at least one thing in common, viz. they' all recognise 
the paramount importance of consistency of thought as a basic prin- 
ciple in philosophy. And to have propounded a monism for the first 
time is a feat which cannot be overestijnated. What remains of this 
essay will be devoted to the investigation of the question, whether 
this feat is duly or unduly credited to the Brahmans. 

It may first be mentioned, that a few' scholars like Weber, Max 
Muller, Regnaud, Deiissen, and Bhandarkar, pointed out, a long 
time ago, certain facts which show that another class of the Hindu 
nation founded the monistic doctrine of the old Upanishads. But 
the attention of the great public has never been called to this sub- 
ject, which deserves to be known by all interested in Indian history'. 

In the second book of the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, of which 
I have already cited two passages, is found the following story, of 
which also the fourth book of Kaushitaki Upanishad gives a slightly 
different version. 

The proud and learned Brahman Balaki Gargya comes on his 
journey to Ajatashatru, prince of Benares, and says to him : "I will 
announce you the Brahma." The king, highly pleased, promises 
him a great reward, a thousand cows. The Brahman begins to ex- 
pound his wisdom : ^' The Spirit (that is the power) in the sun I 
venerate as tlie Brahma." But the king interrupted him, saying 
that he knew that already. Then the Brahman speaks about the 
Spirit in the moon, in lightning, ether, wind, fire, water, but the 
king knows all that. And whatsoever the Gargya might say, is not 
new to the king. The Brahman became silent. But Ajatashatru 




asked him : •* Is that all ? " and Gargya answered : ** Yes* that is all.'* 
Then the king said : **Your little knowledge is not the Brahma ; " 
whereupon Gargya declared that he should like to be one of the 
king's pupils. Ajatashatru replied: ''It is against nature, that a 
Brahman should learn from a warrior and depend on him for the 
understanding of the Brahma, but I will show it you nevertheless/* 
The king took him to a sleeping man and spoke to the latter ; but 
he did not get up. When the king touched him with his hand, he 
arose. The king then asked the Brahman : ** While this man was 
sleeping where was his mind, and whence did it return now ? "^ 
Gargya could not give an answer. Then the king explained to him, 
that the mind or the Self of the sleeping man was wandering around 
in dream, that all places were open to him, that he couid be a great 
king or a great Brahman ; but that there was still a higher condition 
of felicity, that is, absorption in dreamless sleep, without conscious- 
ness. In this condition the Self of man, not affected by the outside 
world, reposes in his true essence and knows no difference between 
Atman and Brahma. 

Another stor>% reported in the fifth book of Chandogya Upani- 
shad and in the sixth book of Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, is perhaps 
of still greater importance. 

The young Brahman Shvetaketu comes to a convention, where 
the King Pravahana Jaivali asks him : ** Has your father instructed 
you?*' — "Yes, sin" — **Do you know to what place the dead go?** 
And three more questions he put to the young Brahman, who was 
compeiled to admit that he knew nothing about them. Discouraged, 
he returned to his father and reproached him : ** Ahhough you have 
not imparted any knowledge to me, you claim that you have in- 
structed me, A simple king has asked me three questions and I could 
not answer a single one.'* The father replied : "You have known 
me sufficiently to understand that I taught you all I knew. Come, 
Jet us go to the king and learn from him.*' The king received the 
Brahman with great honors and requested him to select a present. 
But Gautama refuses all earthly gifts, gold, cows, horses, female 
slaves, and asks the king to answer the questions he had put to 
his son. At first the king was unwilling, but after a while he agreed 



to it and said, that no one on earth could give information on those 
subjects, except a warrior. And the following words of the king's 
are very significant : ''Would that neither you nor your ancestors 
had trespassed on us. that this truth might never have set up her 
residence among Brahmans. But to you, since you are so inquiring, 
I will communicate our wisdom." 

Substantially the same story is found at the beginning of the 
Katishitaki Upanishad, except that the king appears under the name 

Omitting points of less importance, I shall only give in a brief 
form the contents of the eleventh and the following chapters of the 
fifth book of the Chandogya Upanishad, where again a man of the 
warrior caste, Ashvapati, prince of the Kekaya, is shown iu posses- 
sion of the highest wisdom. A number of highly learned Brahmans 
were speculating on the following problems: ** What is our Self ? 
What is the Brahma ? " and they decided to go to Uddalaka Aruni, 
who, as they knew, was investigating the ** Omnipresent Self." But 
Aruni said to himself : ** Now, they will ask me and I am not able 
to answer all tlieir questions"; consequently he requested his visi- 
tors to go with him to Ashvapati. The latter receives them with 
great honors, invites them to stay with him, promising them pres- 
ents as high as their fees for sacrifices. But they replied : '* A man 
must communicate what he knows. You are just now seeking the 
♦Omnipresent Self; disclose to us what it is?'* The king said: 
** I will answer you to-morrow.'* The following day, without having 
received them among his pupils, that is. without a ceremonial re- 
ception as was usual, he asked them : *' What do you venerate as 
the Self ? " They replied : ** Heaven, sun, wind, ether, water^ earth." 
The king reminded them that they were all mistaken in considering 
the Omnipresent Self as a finite and limited being ; it was the in- 
finite, tile infinitely small and the infinitely great. 

The weight of these stories is very plain. Wliether they refer 
to real facts or merely reflect the views of those times in the form of 
legends, cannot be decided. However, the question of the historical 
truth of these stories has no bearing whatever. The fact that they 
are to be found in genuine Brahmanic writings, in books which are 


considered in India as the basis of the Brahman caste, speaks a 
plain language. It shows, that the thought of claiming the monistic 
doctrine of the Brahma- Atman as the inheritance of their caste, 
did not occur to the authors of the old Upanishads. or that they 
dared not claim it : it may be that they did no: yet realise the great 
imponance of the same. Of course in the following ages this science 
became the exclusive propem* of the Brahmans and was culti- 
vated and developed by them during twenty centuries — but this does 
not do away with the fact that it originated among the warrior 
caste. The men of this caste recognised at once the hollo wness of 
the sacrincial system and its absurd symbolical character : and to 
them is due the credit of having disclosed a new world of thought 
and of having accomplished a revolution in the intellectual life of An- 
cient India. When we leam that the Brahmans continued the sacri- 
ficial system, even after having adopted the new creed, and by rep- 
resenting religious ceremonials as the first step to knowledge, thus 
combined two wholly heterogeneous elements : we may justly con- 
clude that things have taken the same course in Ancient India as in 
other countries. Progressive ideas are firsi opj>osed by the priest- 
hood, their bom enemy, until they have become so powertul that 
they cannot be opposed any longer, whereupon the priest adopts 
them and tries to harmonise them with his superstitions. 

But the ideas mentioned in the preceding paragraphs, the sub- 
stance of what is commonly called •• Hindu wisdom," are not all 
that the warriors have done for the religion and philosophy of the 
people. The noble Gautama of Kapilavastu. the best known of all 
Hindus, who established Buddhism about 500 years before Christ, 
was also a Kshattriya. and according to the more recent tradition, 
which alone was formerly known, the son of a king ; but according 
to the earlier sources, disclosed by Oldenberg, he was the son of a 
landed proprietor. Buddha, -'the Enlightened," under which 
name he is known all over the world, most strenuously oppK)sed the 
sacrificial system and the sui>erstitions of the Brahmans. The cere- 
monies and the science of the priesthood seemed to him a perfect 
fraud, and the caste system an absurd institution : he taught that the 
finall beatitude is within the reach of the lowest man, as well as of 



the Brahman and the king ; that every one, without distinction of 

birth, can attain to ** salvation '* by contempt of the world, self-denial, 
and devotion to the welfare of his fellow beings. 

Oldenberg's excellent book on Buddha, the newest standard 
work on this subject, makes it unnecessary for me to dwell at 
length on the tloctrine of the greatest of all Hindus; only in regard 
to one important point, which has a direct bearing on the subject 
under consideration, do I differ from his opinion. According to the 
oldest sources, Buddha's method of teaching is^ to a great extent, be- 
yond the understanding of the bulk of the people ; not a popular, but 
an abstract philosophical one. For intrinsic reasons, I believe that 
the old sources do not give a correct report of this matter, and we 
must not forget that centuries separate them from Buddha, Olden- 
berg himself raises the point, whether the dry and tedious ecclesias 
tical style, in which Buddha's thoughts are clothed by those sources, 
truly reflects the spoken word* He says on page 1 8 1 : * * Wlioever 
reads the words which the sacred books attribute to Buddha will 
doubt that the form in which Buddha taught his precepts is to be 
identified wkh that abstract and sometimes abstruse metaphysical 
language, A youthful, invigorating spirit, pervading alike teacher 
and disciples, is the true picture of those times, admitting of no un- 
natural or artificial features," 

In spite of this, he comes to the conclusion that **the solemn 
and stern way of speaking, peculiar to Buddha, has been better ex- 
pressed by tradition than by what we would feel tempted to substi- 
tute." I am not of this opinion. In India a great success could 
not have been obtained but by overpowering eloquence and a popular 
method, intelligible to all, and proceeding by parables and meta- 

If Buddha had only appealed to the intellect of his nearest sur- 
roundings, consisting merely of aristocratic elements, if he had not 
found his way to the heart of the people, his monastery w*ould very 
likely have shared the destiny of the other religious congregations of 
his agCi which have all disappeared, except one. As the doctrines of 
these monasteries or their founders do not substantially differ from 
each other, and as it cannot be ascribed to mere chance that 




Buddha's doctrine has developed into a universal religion, having 
the greatest number of adherents, there remains hut one hypothesis 
to account for this fact, and that is the superiority of Buddha*s way 
of teaching. The erroneousness of the generally prevailing opinion 
that Buddha was in his time the only founder of a new relifri^n, and 
that he suddenly revolutionised the social organisation of I .e Indian 
people, has been clearly established by recent investigatio u. In fact, 
he was a ** primus inter pares/' one of those numerous ascetics who 
were striving for and preaching *^ liberation " from the eternal trans- 

Besides Buddha's, only one congregation has survived : the 
Jaina, having numerous members in the western part of India, The 
principles of the Jaina are very similar to those of Buddha; so much 
so that until recently it was considered merely as a sect of Buddhism, 
while it is really a religion of its own, founded by a contemporary 
or a predecessor of Buddha, named Vardhamana Jnataputra — in 
the language of the people, Vaddhamana Nataputta^ — in the same 
part of the country' where Buddha rose. The only difference be- 
tween the two religions is this : Vardhamana lays great stress on 
castigation ; while the more progressive Buddha declares it useless 
— nay, pernicious. The important point in regard to the object of 
our essay is this: that the founder of Jaina, which occupies a high 
place in the history of Hindu culture, was also a member of the 
Warrior Caste. 

We shall now have to consider another production of the Indian 
mind, the very name of which is unknown to most of our readers, 
although it offers the most interesting religious problems. I refer 
to the doctrine of the Bhagavatas or Pancharatras. These names, 
of which the former is the earlier and original one, designate a reli- 
gious sect in North India, whose existence in the fourth century b. c. 
is authentically proved, but which can be placed with great probabil- 
ity ip the time before Buddha. They professed a common-sense 
nionotheism, independent of the traditions of the old Brahmans, and 
venerated God under different names : Bhagavant, ** The Sublime," 
whence their name is derived ; Nsirayana, *' Son of Man ; " Purashot- 
tamma, **The Supreme Being''; but generally under the nam 



Krishna Vasudeva, ** Son of Vasudeva '\ The character of their wor* 
ship produced feehngs identical with tlie Christian love and devotion 
to God. The Hindu word for this feeling is Chakti, and for him who 
was penetrated by the same, Chakta. As the word Chakti cannot be 
found or has not been found in the Hindu hterature earlier than the 
era of Christ, several scholars are inclined to attribute the Chakti to 
the influence of Christianity, especially Professor Weber, who de* 
serves the highest praise for his researches concerning Krishna wor- 
ship. Weber has proved in several of his books, especially in a 
highly interesting treatise on Krishna's birth, that numerous Chris- 
tian notions have entered into the later Krishna legends (the simi- 
larity of the names, Krishna and Christ, accounts for it): for in- 
stance, the birth of Christ among the shepherds, the story about the 
stable, and others of tbe same kind. In spite of this, I cannot em- 
brace the opinion that the Chakti has been brought from a foreign 
country, because its first appearance belongs to a period in which 
Christian influences cannot be found. As I cannot go into details 
without discussing very difficidl points, requiring a great deal of 
erudition, I will only say that whoever is familiar with the old 
Hindu civilisation will easily understand that the Chakti is of genu- 
ine Hindu origin. Monotheistic notions can be traced to the old- 
est periods of Hindu antiquity, and the Hindu mind has always been 
animated by a high aspiration towards God ; so that it should not 
surprise us that this feature of the Hindu character has produced 
a religion jjopular and independent of philosophical specnlation, 
consisting in love and devotion to God. The founder of this re- 
ligion was Krishna V^asudeva, afterwards raised to divine dignity, or 
rathtr identified w ith the deity ; from his name and from the legends 
attached to his name, he was a member of the Warrior Caste. As 
early as the epoch of the Mahabharata, the great Indian epic poem, 
the Bralimans appropriated to themselves the name and work of 
Krishna, antl transformed the venerated hero into the God Vishnu ; 
thus increasing their strength by adopting a doctrine not of Brah- 
manic origin. 

W'e liave thus found that the profound philosophical monism of 
the Upanishads, the highly moral religions of Buddha and Jaina^ 


and last, not least, the creed of the Bhagavatas, based on pure de- 
votion to God, did not originate among the Brahmans. 

However favorably we may judge of the achievements of the 
Brahmans in all branches of science, and I am far from vilifying 
their merits, still it is certain that the greatest intellectual perform- 
ances of India, na}', all such in India that have been beneficial to 
mankind, were accomplished by men of the Warrior Caste. 

Richard Garbe. 



THE idea of necessity, although a fundamental concept in phi- 
losophy and science, has not as yet been so clearly defined 
that all thinkers would agree as to its meaning and significance. 
Necessity is frequently identified with compulsion, and thus it is 
supposed to he incompatible with freedom of will. It is also iden- 
tified with fate, as if it were a destiny that existed above the will of 
man and the powers of nature, similar to the Moira of the ancients. 
It is said to exclude chance in every possible conception of the term 
and to cause the evolution of the world to proceed by a predeter- 
mined arrangement, like the mechanism of a clock. 

We cannot endorse Mr» Charles S, Peirce's objection to the 
doctrine of necessity, but we side with him when he denounces the 
mechanica! philosophy for considering minds as **part of the phys- 
ical world in such a sense that the laws of mechanics determine 
everything that happens," Mn Peirce is right when he rebukes the 
mechanical philosopher for *' entering consciousness under the head 
of sundries as a forgotten trifle." In some sense minds are parts of 
the physical, i. e. the natural, world, but they are not parts of that 
province of nature which constitutes the special domain of physics 
and mechanics. Ideas are not motions and cannot be explained by 
mechanical laws. 

Having criticised in a former article of ours Mr. Peirce's posi- 
tion, and having rejected the indeterminism proposed by him, w*e 
shall discuss in the following pages the basis and scope of the idea 
of necessity. 



The idea of necessity is based upon the conception of sameness, 
and we find that the existence of samenesses is a feature of the world 
in which we live. The existence of samenesses is a fact of expe- 
rience. and upon the presence of this fact depends the possibility 
of the origin, the being, and the development of the thinking mind 

Necessity, as we understand it, must be carefully distinguished 
from the idea of fate. Although we accept without reserve the doc- 
trine of determinism, we do not mean to deny the important part 
that chance plays in the world — not absolute chance, which according 
to Mr. Peirce is exempt from law, hut that same chance of which 
the throw of a die is a typical instance. And bearing in mind that 
necessity is not a power outside of nature and above the will of man, 
but that it resides in them as the quality of sameness, we abandon 
the view that identifies necessity with compulsion ; recognising thus, 
that freedom of the will is not incorapatibie with our view of ne- 


The standpoint from which we shall treat this subject is that of 
monistic positivism, — the method which accepts no doctrine, theory, 
or law unless it bp a formulation of facts. Facts are the bottom- 
rock to which we can and must dig down. At the same time, wher- 
ever facts appear contradictory to one another, we should not he- 
satisfied, but continue to investigate until they are system atised so 
as to form a unitary entirety. 

Before we begin our inquiry into the existence or non-existence 
of necessity, it is advisable to define the meaning of the term. 

The Latin word nccesse is most probably a compound of the 
negative ne and the supine cessum from cedcre to yield, to move. 
•* Necessary,'* according to this etymology, would mean that which 
does not yield but abides. Thus it is the inevitable ; it is that which 
is or will be. 

It is in this sense that the word is still used, or at least ought to 
be used, and in this sense we shall also use it. 



Every word naturally acquires by a more or Jess appropriate 
application a series of meanings. So ** necessary'* means also that 
which is needful, that which is essential, that which is indispensable 
and requisite ; it also means that which is done under compulsion. 
It is understood that we exclude all the other meanings of necessary 
except the original one, which is its properly philosophical meaning. 

The idea of necessity is closely allied to the idea of same- 
ness. In order to understand the former we must be clear con- 
cerning the meaning of the latter. 


There exist a number of synonyms often used indiscriminately ; 
they are : identity, sameness, equality, congruity, similarity, and 
likeness. By *' identity" we generally understand a sameness in 
every respect, absolute sameness; by ** equality '', a sameness that 
can be expressed in figures. Equality is always a measurable same- 
ness, and refers to quantity, mass, size, length, height, age, etc. 
Likeness and similitude are samenesses of form or of proportion, 
albeit not of size. It is often used as a partial sameness of impres- 
sions, not so much as they are in themselves, but as they appear to 
the mind. Congruity is a synonym of sameness in the province of 
geometry, denoting the coincidence of figures when laid upon one^ 
another, * 

The logical principle of identity, so-called, it appears to me, 
ought to be named the principle of sameness, for it has not refer- 
ence to the absolute sameness of a thing with itself, f The state- 
ment A s= A does not mean that this particular thing A is itself and 
that therefore the one A is one and the same thing. It is a general 
statement and means that all A^ in so far as they are A, are tl 
same. The statement A ^A, ^s I take it, presupposes the exist- 

♦ The adjective "like "is an abbreviation of "alike'*; and " a-like '* (M.E, 
afy^e, A.S. ^rlh, O.H,G. i'Vi/<//, M.H.G. j^eiit/t^ M G. i^'/^u/i) is a compound of the 
prefix a with /ir body, shape, figure. 

f I am satisfied that logical identity is intended to mean sameness. I supp)os4Si 
that the word identity, Wing Latin and a kind of international term, appeared] 
to logicians preferable to the Saxon word "jiameness" or the German *'Gleich- 
heit/' We need not look for any deeper reason for the adoption of the term. 

THL II'FA OF NrrF><nV. 71 

ence of a number of A^s .• otherwise it would have no sense, and it 
would not only be empt}'. as we know from Kant that all formal 
statements are. i but meaningless and useless. It would he of no 
avail either in logic or in science. 

In consideration of the fact that the idea oi sameness is a funda- 
mental concept in our scientific, logical, and philosophical reasoning, 
it is astonishing that no satisfactory definition of it is to l>e found. 
To define --same"' as --one in substance : not other. ... of one na- 
ture or general character, of one kind, degree, or amount.'" as is 
done in the *• Century- Dictionary,*' is no improvement upon •• Web- 
ster," who defines it as '-not different or other : identical. Oi like 
kind, species, sort, dimensions or the like : not different in char- 
acter or in the quality or qualities compared ; . . . like." However, 
dictionaries are not encyclopaedias : and they have perhaps a right 
to define same as identical, and identical as same. 

Mr. James Ward, in the •• Encyclopaniia Britannica," iXVL Si, 
in his excellent article on "Psychology,'*! incidentally complains 
about the ambiguity of the word "same**: he proposes a distinc- 
tion between "material identity ' and *• individual identity," but this 
does not solve the difficulty. Flemming's •* Vocabulary of Philoso- 
phy*' (4th ed. edited by Calderwood » contains several articles on 
"identical" and on '* identity'* without discussing in any one of 
them the meaning of **same'* or of "identical." 

What then is the meaning of same ? 

Let us first consider the etymology of the word. The root of 
"same" is found in almost all Indo-European languages ; it is pre- 
served in the first syllable of the Latin " similis *' and "simul." in 
the second syllable of the German ** Zuy<//;/wen " : in the Greek 
**a^a'^ and "o/io/ojr,'* and the Sanskrit " sama," all of which de- 
note a togetherness. Thus the etymological meaning seems to sig- 
nify what is classed in one category. Accordingly, the present 
meaning as defined by the dictionaries, as being that which is " of 
one nature or not different in character," has not changed : at any 
rate if there is any change, it is sliglit. Yet it is desirable to bring 
out and set in a clear light the purport of the word and its essence. 


What, then, is the economic service and function of the idea of 
** sameness*' in the household of thought? 

''Sameness'' is that feature in two things or states of things, in 
two processes or modes of action, which brings it to pass that the one 
may be replaced by the other without altering for a certain purpose 
the state of things or affecting the result of the entire process. Popu- 
larly expressed, sameness is the capabihty of one thing's being sub- 
stituted for another. 

There is no need of discussing or proving the truism, that, 
properly speaking, there is no absolute sameness, no identity in 
the strict sense of the term. This was the meaning of Heraclitus's 
idea of the perpetual flux of things, expressed in his nai'ta p€h 
There are no two moments in time, no two points in space, no 
two atoms of matter actually identical, and we cannot enter into the 
identical river twice, 

Cratylus tried to outdo Herachtus, by saying that we cannot 
even enter once into the identical river, for while entering, not only 
the river changes but also we ourselves ; and Cratylus is perfectly 

We have purposely substituted in Heraclitus's proposition \ 
** identical" for ** same,*' because this change is needed to bring out 
the truth of the idea. Heraclitus and Cratylus cease to be right if 
we use the word same as above defined. We enter indeed the same 
river twice. The river of to day is, for*a certain purpose, quite the 
same as the river of yesterday, in so far namely as the river of to-day 
and the river of yesterday serve a certain and the same purpose : 
for other purposes this same river will perhaps not be the same* 
The geographer and historian speak of the Rhine as that stream of 
water which since time immemorial has flowed down from the St. 
Gotthardt to the North Sea. Accordingly, if we stand on the bank of 
the Rhine, it is quite correct to say that this is the same river that 
was crossed by Caesar. Let the purpose of our thoughts be changed, 
and we shall no longer be permitted to speak of sameness. Suppose 
we had seen the Rhine for the first time in its beautiful emerald col- 
oring, and had come again after a rainy day to admire its beauty, 
should we not be justified in exclaiming : This is not the same river ! 


Sameness, accordingly, depends upon a special purpose. If in 
a chemical combination a metal is wanted, it may be all the same 
whether we use iron, zinc, lead, or gold. That is to say, it is all the 
same for bringing about a sf>ecia] result ; yet it is not all the same 
in other respects. The weight and certain other qualities of the 
metals are different, and also the cost. 


Sameness depending upon a special purpose, the question 
arises. Is there any objective sameness in the world, or is sameness a 
mere subjective addition to things ? Is sameness something •• real " 
or is it purely mental ? 

This is the old quarrel between the Nominalists and Realists 
among the Schoolmen. It lies at the bottom of the problem of uni- 
versals and particulars, and we should say, it is only a special form 
of the question, "Are relations objective qualities of existence or 
are they products of the mind ? '* which was discussed in a former 
number {Thr Monist. II, 2, pp. 240-42 ^. The idea of sameness rep- 
resents the most important relation that exists ; and if any relation 
is real, the relation of sameness must be real also. 

If sameness depends upon a special purpose, it appears that 
there can be no sameness without that purpose : and the purpose 
being purely mental, the sameness also would seem to be purely 
mental. But this is not so. Sameness is an idea, and it is no excep- 
tion to other ideas. All ideas are mental symbols formed for a spe- 
cial purpose ; but, being symbols of something, ideas are represent- 
ative of some reality, or of some feature of a reality, or of some 
relation between two or several things. Every idea stands for some- 
thing ; and this quality of the significance of ideas is called their 
meaning or their import. 

The question now is. How does the idea of sameness originate 
in the world where, as we stated abbve, there is no absolute same- 
ness, no identity? Our answer is that sameness, not identity, is a 
general feature of this world of reality, which impresses itself upon 
ever>' mind from the verj^ beginning of the mind's origin. 

We can go farther in our statement and make it more emphatic : 



Mind originates and grows only on the ground of the fact that same- 
ness is a feature of the world, and is recognised as such by feeHng 

Two points or two congruent geometrical figures being in dif- 
ferent places are not identical. But they are of such a nature that, 
so far as regards the purposes of geometry, one serves the purposes 
in question just as well as the other, or one can be replaced by the 
other ; and this quality is called their sameness. 

Now as a matter of fact there are no two concrete things in 
the world in which there cannot be found some sameness. Both 
somehow affect sentiency ; we say they consist of matter Both 
can be measured in size, breadth, and height t we say, they are ex- 
tended. Both are at any given moment in a certain relation to 
other things: we say, they are in space. Both have a definite forin 
and consist of one or several special structures (i. e., so to say, in- 
side-forms). All things can in some ^vay or other be classed together 
under one heading. These samenesses of things go along with dif- 
ferences, and the degree of sameness in the different things varies 
greatly. Whether there is any sameness and difference at all in the 
world, cannot be decided a prwn\ but is a problem which can be 
solved only on the ground of, first, an a posttriori statement of the 
facts, second, a s\^steniatical arrangement of the facts. If this is 
accomplished we can venture into a methodical investigation as to 
the nature of the samenesses as well as the differences that obtain in 
the universe, and having arranged them in a system, we can apply 
a priori this system to facts with which we are not as yet acquainted. 

The many samenesses which are experienced are not purely 
mental additions ; they are not mere subjective imputations trans- 
ferred upon objective existence. They are real ; i. e. there are in 
the objective things actual features which allow of certain substitu- 
tions. A ray of light awakens in some feeling substance the traces 
k'ft by former rays of light ; and this reawakening is called mem- 
ory. Tlie perception of sameness is the beginning of mind, and it 
involves the perception of difference as a natural consequence. 

Suppose that the stuff of which the world consists were cap* 
able of acquiring feeling, but there were no samenesses whatever ; 

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as well as in ethics, depends upon the trustworthiness of the same- 
nesses stated to exist in the objective world. 

The question of the ultimate raison d^eire of the samenesses and 
differences, is another question ; and it would lead us too far here to 
discuss it. In several details the problem is not as yet ripe for solu- 
tion. A full solution of the problem would be tantamount to the 
exposition of a complete knowledge of the world. Suffice it here to 
say that we have reasons to think of the world-stuff as being of the 
same nature throughout. The chemical elements seem to be differ- 
ent configurations of one and the same substance. In this way all 
difference would have to be explained as a difference of form. 

The form of reality possesses sameness and difference in all its 
parts. Space in its sameness is by experience found to be tri-dimen- 
sional, which means, it is determinable throughout by three coordi- 
nates ; while its differences are due to the position of the points con- 
sidered. For the purpose of the geometrician space is uniform, but 
for the purpose, say of the architect, it is not uniform. To the geom- 
etrician two congruent triangles, w^hether they are in the cellar or 
in the garret, are the same. However, to the architect the position 
of two congruent triangles in his design of a house is by no means 
the same. Every single point of space has its special and individual 

The whole business of science is to systematise the samenesses 
of experience, and to present them in such convenient formulas that 
they can be used for guidance in our actions. 

The most compreliensive formulation of the sameness of the 
imi verse as a whole has found its expression in the law of the con- 
servation of matter and energy. This law rests upon the experience, 
corroborated by experiments, that causation is transformation. It 
states that the total amount of matter and the total amount of energy 
remain constant. There is no creation out of nothing and no con- 
version of something into nothing. 


After this sketch of the importance of sameness, (a subject which 
we ha%'e by no means exhausted,) we return to the idea of necessity* 



The ideas o£ sameness and necessity are closely related. A world 
of sameness is a world in which necessity rules, and necessity means 
regularity and order. 

German scientists have a very good expression to denote the 
formulation of events in a manner which describes them in their 
necessary course. If they have succeeded in finding the sameness 
in the instances of a certain class of events, they say that it is tin- 
deuiig be^timmt, which means, the sameness is determined in a way 
that admits of no equivocation; it is complete, representing solely and 
purely that feature upon the presence of which the result depends. 
Whatever is thus eindeutig btstimmty is recognised in its necessity- 
The presence of that feature which makes it eindeutig bestimmty de- 
termines the event to take place ; and this being determined, its 
inevitableness, the // ivill he of the process, is all there is to neces- 

All natural phenomena that can be eindeutig bestimmt are oeces- 
sar}' in their happening. A world which with regard to the total 
amount of its matter and energy is the same to-day and yesterday 
and will be the same to-morrow, a world whose laws of form possess 
a sameness throughout, so that it allows of formulating and applying 
them in their rigidity to all facts present, past, and future, a world 
in which all the changes are transformations determinable with the 
assistance of formal laws, can be relied upon and the course of its 
events can be computed. 

Such IX the world in which we live ; and taking this ground I 
ay, the world is a cosmos, it is no chaos ; and noticing that being 
assessed of sameness is an intrinsic and inalienable feature of the 
world, I am inclined to add the world never was and never will be 
a chaos. And this, if it be true at all, is true not only in general 
and as il were wholesale, but in its minutest details. If there were 
Bciencies of this order in the unobservable details, they would not 
* diminished by being summed up in large and ever larger amounts ! 
on the contrary, they would increase ; they would grow in pr<' 
portioa* This not being the case, w^e have not the slightest reason 
to doubt that in those realms of minutest existence into which, from 
the grossness and the lack of precision of our organs and instru- 



ments of observation, we cannot penetrate^ the same order and reg- 
ularity obtains as in those regions which lie open to our investiga- 
tron. In other words : From this standpoint, existence is, so to say, 
permeated by law throughout : every event is determined and any 
kind of absolute chance is excluded. 

Following Kant's etymology we understand by a /i7^/<rr/>r/ the ] 
sensory elements, and by a priori the formal elements of our expe- 
rience. The queer expression **a priori*' is in so far justified as 
formal truths (such as geometrical, arithmetical, logical rules) are 
formulas expressing the universal samenesses of the form of exist- 
ence. They contain the laws of form in a shape that is eituieutig 
btstimmty so that an experimt^nter will know them a priori to be so. 
A priori means beforehand. An experimenter knows certain things 
even before he makes his experiments. The a priori elements of 
experience are by no means innate truths ; nor are they the histor- 
ical beginning of experience. On the contrary. In their abstract 
purity they appear as a very late product of man's mental evolution. 

The a priori systems of thought are not arbitrary constructions ^ 
they are constructions raised out of the recognition of the formal, 
i. e. tlie relational, samenesses that appear in experience. Ail possi- 
bilities of a certain class of relations can he exhausted and formu- 
lated in theorems. As such ihey can be used as references to assist 
in the explanation and determination of new experiences. We know 
some part of any new experience with which we are confronted 
even before w^e have investigated it. We know^ certain laws of its 
form, and by reference to these known laws we are enabled to re- 
duce the unknown to the known, to analyse the process and set 
forth that feature of it which makes it eintieutig hestimmt. 


Mr. Peirce objects to necessitarianism, and classes it together 
with materialism and the mechanical philosophy, speaking of the 
latter as the most logical form of necessitarianism. In consonance 
with the dictionary-definitions of these words, he contrasts them to 
the doctrine of the freedom of the will and also to miracles^ — the 



latterp we must confess, being a dangerous concession to certain tlitr 
ological conceptions. 

The *♦ Centura' Dictionar}' *' defines *' necessitarianism ** as 

"The theory that the uill is subject to the general mechanical law of cause 
and effect " 

And ** necessitarian '' as 

' • Ouc who maintains the doctrine of philosophical necessity, in opposition to 
that of the freedom of the will : opposed to libertarian/* 

The word ** determinism '' is regarded as a synonym of necessi- 
tarianism. Its first definition in the ** Century Dictionary " reads 
as follows : 

"A term invented by Sir William Hamilton to denote the doctrine of the ne- 
cessitarian philosophers, who hold that man s actions are uniformly determined by 
motives acting upon his character, and that he has not the power to choo&e to act 
ixi one way so long as he prefers on the whole to act in another way/* 

Hamilton's definition as here presented is puzzling. If the 
words ** choose** and "prefer on the whole'* are not meant to be 
tautological, there is no sense in it ; for no deterrninist denies that a 
man might **upon the whole*' prefer to act this way, while he has 
the power to choose, and for special considerations perhaps does 
choose, to act in anotlier way. However, if the words ** choose" 
and ** prefer on the whole" are meant to be tautological, the self- 
contradictor in ess of the statement is too palpable for a Hamilton. 
Is there anybody who would maintain that a man who chooses to 
act in one way can at the same time, under the very same circum- 
stances, and he remaining the very same man of the same character 
and intentions, choose to act in another way? 

While we accept determinism and also necessitarianism in the 
sense that all events (the actions of willing beings included) are de- 
termined, we cannot accept either the mechanical philosophy or 
materia] ism as the terms are commonly understood. 

Wc find materialism defined as 

' The metaphysical doctrine that matter is the only substance, and that matter 
and its moticms constitute the universe." (" Century Dictionary/' 2d sense.) 



The mechanical philosophy is explained sub voce '* atomic *' as 

" [The view that] from the diverse comb inatiba and motions of . . . . atoms all 
things, iacludiDg the souL were supposed to arise." IHd, 

Determinism is simply the negation of absohite chance. It 
does not exclude chance in the original sense of the word as an un- 
expected event, as something that befalls one without his seeking it 
or making the event^chance being derived from ML. cadentia^ j. e. 
the falling, as in a throw of dice. 

The ** Century Dictionary'* defines *' chance" in sense 9» as 

"Fortuity ; especially the absence of a cause necessitating an event.'* 

This is absolute chance, the existence of which we deny. The 
** Century Dictionary" adds the following little note : 

"Absolute chance, the (supposed) spontaneous occurrence of evjQts undeter- 
mined by any general law or by any free volition. According to Aristotle, events 
may come about in three ways : first, by necessity or an external compulsion ; sec- 
ond, by nature or the development of an inward germinal tendency ; and third, by 
chance, without any determining cause or principle whatever, by lawless, sporadic 

We understand chance as being, from certain premisses, an in- 
calculable coincidence, either not intended to be calculated, or, for 
certain reasons, from a given standpoint with a limited and definite 
amount of knowledge, not capable of calculation. Determinism^ as 
we understand the term, does not imply as the "Century Dic- 
tionary '' has it in its definition of necessitarianism, that ** the law of 
cause and effect "is ** mechanicaL" It simply asserts that the law of 
cause and effect holds good universally, and that there is no effect 
that is not definitely determined, according to the nature of the 
things in action, by causes and all their circumstances. 

♦Knowing that Mr. Peirce is one of the most prominent contributors to the 
Century Dictionary, I may be pardoned for surmising that, perhaps with the excep- 
tion of the parenthesised word "(supposed}'" he is the author of this passage and very 
likely of most of the other quotations of philosophical terras we have adduced from 
the same source. 




Mr. Peirce says : 

**j4// the diversity and specifics Iness of events is attributable to chance — 
diversification, specilicaloess. and irregularity of things^ 1 suppose is chance — and 
this diversity cannot be due to laws that are immutable " {P. 33a.) 

Our world-view leads us to other conclusions ; we say: 

Every specificalness or particularity is such by possessing a 
certain form and standing in a definite relation (in time as well as 
space) to all other things of the universe. Of every concrete thing 
we can say it is now and here, or it was then and there. It is or 
was made up in this special way, and it stands or it stood in these 
special relations to its surroundings. Proportions, relations, forms 
—these are what account for the diversification and specificalness of 
all things in the universe ; they are what explain the irregularities 
of individual cases and of all those events which appear as chance 
to him who, although he may be well informed about the nature 
of a things does not know the relation of its complex surroundings, 
exercising according to law their disturbing influence upon its ac- 
tions which otherwise would be uniform. 

And since no two spots of space and no two instances of time 
are the same, since the relations of every atom are different in every 
position and at every moment of its existence, we need not be as- 
tonished to find diversity and specificalness in this world of same- 

We do not believe in absolute chance, but we believe in chance. 

What is chance? 

Chance is any event not especially intended, citlier not calcu- 
lated, or, with a given and limited stock of knowledge, incalculable. 

Gunpowder was, according to the legend, invented by chance. 
Berthold Schwartz intended to make gold, yet when the mixture 
was ignited, he began to understand that it was an explosive. 
When I say that I met a friend by chance, 1 mean that the meet- 
ing was unintentional. 1 had not foreseen it and perhaps could not 
foresee it. When we call a throw of dice pure chance, we mean 
that the incidents which condition the turning up of these or those 



special faces of the dice have not heen or cannot be calculated. We 
do not mean that the law of cause and eiiect is suspended ; we mea 
that we are unable to determine the effect. That which would make 
this or that throw einifcifti^ bestimmi is either not known to us, or, if 
it were known, is of such a nature that we cannot produce the de- 
sired effect wiih any certainty. Matters are so arranged in the game 
of dice that the slightest incident changes the result, and these in- 
cidents are either not within our ken or not within the range of our 
power. Chance, accordingly, as we understand it, is no exception 
to necessity ; it does not happen contrary to law» and is in each case 
the strict result of a liefinite cause under definite circumstances. 

Absolute chance is something quite different. Absolute chance 
is that which is incalculable because of the absence of law. Mr. 
Feirce says : 

*'Ano!her argument, or conveiiienl commonplace, is that absolute chance is 
m(^H€tivQhic. ThJs word has eight current si gni locations. The ' Century Diction- 
ary ' enumerates six- Thotse who t;ilk like ihls will hardly be persuaded to say in 
what sen&e iht'y mean thai chance is incunceivable.' 

Absolute chance is ** inconceivable '* as the word is defined by 
the ** Century Dictionary'* in the second sense : It is 

" unacceptable to the mind liecniis^ involving a violation of laws believed to be well 
established by positive evidence." 

Absolute chance is not unthinkable in the sense of unimagin- 
able. We can very well depict a case of absolute chance in our 
imagination, just as we can tell and describe in minutest details the 
fairy tale of Alladin's lamp ; just as we can in our imagination de- 
pict a creation nut of nothing. But he who accepts that the world is 
in its innermost nature a cosmos, that its events are strictly and 
throughout regulated by law, cannot at the same time think that 
there are noL»ks and crevices in which the law does not opt-rate. Ab- 
sokite chance actually involves the idea of a creation out of nothing ; 
and thus it stands in contradiction to the law of the preservation of 
matter and energy. Absolute chance which means that the very 
same thing under the very same conditions can act in this or in some 
other way, that It need not act in exactly the same way. involves a 



belief in either the creation of a not existiog quality out of notliing* 
or the disappearance of existing qualities into nothing. 
Mr. Peirce says t 

** It seems to me that every throw of sixes with a pair of dice is a manifest in- 
stance of chance/* 

Yes, of chance ; but not of tliat chance the existence of which 
Mr. Peirce maintains— not of absolute chance. Every throw of dice, 
ever>' toss of head or tail, are exactly determined by circumstances. 
We call it chance only in so far as we cannot calculate and prede- 
termine the result. 

Suppose you take tw^o large silver coins between your thumb 
and the first two fingers, one coin parallel to and a little above the 
other. Suppose tails are up in both. Drop the lower coin without 
an effort just as it w^ould fall, about twenty inches, and you may be 
sure that, in spite of yourself, it will turn up head. Then drop the 
upper one and it will not turn, but plump right down showing tail. 
There are certain mechanical reasons for the one case as well as for 
the other. As soon as we know the law and can apply it, the case 
ceases to be an instance of chance. 

Dice, the roulette, and other games of chance are so arranged, 
that the determinating circumstances are too numerous and also too 
complex, one interfering with and being disturbed by the others, to 
admit of any adequate calculation or predetermination. An arrange- 
ment of conditions which in this way eludes the calculation of a 
definite set of possibilities, is called by Professor Kries glekhe Spiel- 
raume or equal chances. And the province of equal chances is and 
will remain the proper sphere of the calculus of probabilities. 

Professor Nilsche objects to Kries's proposition, saying that 
absolutely equal chances are impossible and an equal chance {ein 
gltkhtr Spiflraum) is nothing but the objectificatiou of a judgment 
of equal value.* We find no fault with Nitsche's objection ; there 
are no absolutely equal chances ; and what is called ** equal chance " 

♦ Die PfiHiipien dtr W^ahrscheintiikkiitsrukHung by Johannes von Kries See 
also Meinong's review of the book (in Giifi. f^ef Ah%.^ No. 2, p. 56 et seqq.) .ind Ad. 
Nitsches article on the subject tin Vii^rUljahrsschriftfUr lotss. PhiL of 1892. XVI, 
I, p 26). 



means that the strength of two or several anticipations is of the same 

degree ; that our belief and doubt as to the turning up of one, two, 
three, four, fivG, or six spots of a die are equally justified. The ob- 
jective conditions which justify such equahty of several expectations 
is what Kries (if we understand him correctly) calls ^kiche Spiel- 
raume^ But ^kiche Sfkirdume do not imply absolute chance. We 
might as well expect that all the six faces of a die should turn up 
simultaneously in one throw, as that any one of them should turn 
up by absolute chance. 

While absolute chance cannot be admitted, partly because we 
are not* in need of it, (since the irregularities of nature can be suffi- 
ciently explained other^vise, ) and partly because the idea of absolute 
chance if it were needed, is incompatible with our world-conception, 
we shall, nevertheless, have to concede to chance, as we understand 
the term, a very important role in the evolution of life. The forma- 
tion of w^orlds and the history of mankind depend to a great extent 
upon chances similar to the throws of dice. There are many possi- 
bilities, and now this, now that, will, according to the circumstances, 
be realised — of course in each case with strict necessity. 

Let us illustrate this idea by an example. 

The formation of about sevent)^ elements out of the original 
wo rid -substance, which may be supposed to be homogeneous, doesj 
not appear to depend upon chance. Their universal appearance in i 
all parts of the universe suggests the hypothesis that their forma- 
tion is the inevitable result of a gradual condensation of nebular 
substances. We find everywhere, according to the stage of conden- 
sation, a gradual appearance, first of the lighter, then of the heavier 
elements. There seems to be no possibility of the formation of other 
elements than those known to us (including here the hypothetical 
elements which are still missing in the Mendeljeff series and at the 
same time, at least, not excluding a further continuance of the 
series). These elements or none, it appears, must be formed out of 
the original substance of our world. Let us here assume, for argu- 
ment's sake, that it were so beyond qiiestion, and that wc knew the na- 
ture of the world-substance to be such as to condense, if it condenses 
at all, into no other but these forms, which we call chemical elements. 


This would be a limitation of possibilities. Exactly so the throws 
of dice are limited. With the dice commonly in use we cannot 
throw fractions ; nor can we throw either zero, or seven, or any other 
higher number. We can throw only whole numbers, integrals from 
one up to six. But while we thus assume that the formation of the 
elements is limited to those actually existing, the proportion in which 
the elements may be distributed in the different nebula? and solar 
systems, is apparently very different. Suppose we had a full knowl- 
edge of the intrinsic nature of the world-substance and were stand- 
ing outside the universe observing the process of world-formations ; 
we could not from this knowledge alone predict all that would happen. 
We should on our assumption be able to predict a priori that such 
elements would be formed. But whether the different elements would 
be generated in these or in other proportions appears to depend upon 
the presence of certain conditions, perhaps the rapidity of motion, the 
heat produced by friction, the temperature of the surrounding cos- 
mic space, any knowledge of which is not included in our knowledge 
of the nature of the world-substance. These conditions may vary, 
nay, so far as we can judge they actually do vary ; and any apparently 
slight variation of them, or even one of them, will result in dif- 
ferent effects of great consequence. Without a detailed knowledge 
of all these special conditions, simply from a supposed a prion 
knowledge of the world-substance, the idiosyncracy of this or that 
particular solar system could not be a priori determined. Here it 
will be such, and there, under perhaps slightly different circum- 
stances, it will be entirely other. Here the centre of gravity may 
be in one great mass, there again it may be divided in two, so that 
the planets circle around two suns. 

From this point of view we have to call these results products 
of chance. 

To a being who not only might be supposed to know the intrinsic 
nature of existence, but could have present before his mind every 
event of the great interacting cosmos in its entire complexity, this 
kind of chance would, of course, also disappear. To him all states of 
things would appear throughout as eintieutig bestimmi. Yet, although 
in this way necessity permeates all events that take place, we do not 


intend to deny the irregularity of detail,* the specificalness of the 
particulars, the diversity of individual incidents and existences. Ac- 
cording to our conception of nature they must remain, and we need 
not attrihute them to absolute chance. To attribute irregularities to 
absolute chance (as Mr, Peirce does) is actually an abandonment of 
explaining them. The specificalness and particularity of nature can 
be said to be due to chance in so far only as they do not depend 
upon and are not determinable Ijv the nature of the things under 
consideration^ but result (with strict necessity of course) from the, 
ever-changing conformations of surrounding circumstances. 

Thus the fate of a man depends mainly upon his character, — 
the proverb says, ** Every man is the architect of his own fortune" 
— but not entirely. There are sometimes coincidences determiniDg 
the fates of men, and through tlieni the fates of whole nations. And 
these coincidences do not result from their character. 

Let everybody think of his own fate. Part of his life has been 
what it was because he is such a man as he is ; and we can, within 
certain limits, predict the fate of a youth with whose character we 
are familiar. But how much of our lives depends upon circumstances 
which could be foreseen only by an omniscient being, and which, as 
we might properly say, if we do not misunderstand the term, is due 
to chance ! 


Compulsion is generally considered as a synonym of necessity. 
But the usage of the term necessity in the sense of compulsion is, 
in our opinion, very inappropriate, because misleading. Necessity 
and compulsion should not be confounded ; for compulsion excludes 
free will and ** necessity " does not. 

A government compels its citizens to obey certain unpopular 
laws ; the victorious army compels the enemy to surrender. The 
obedience of the citizens and the surrender ot the enemy are acts 

* By itregularity of detail we understand simply a lack of uniformity, but not 
exceplions to law. If irregularity l>e defined as exception to law. we should say, 
There is no irregularity in the world, while at (he same time nothing is uniform : 
for every particle of the world is in its time and space relations and otherwise dif- 
ferent from every other particle. 



done under compulsion ; they are not acts of free will. Bui a man 
of a certain character wills, under given circumstances and in the 
absence of compulsion, necessariiy in the way in which he does. The 
determination of a free will is not a matter of chance but of necessity. 
Yet the determining factors are not outside but inside ; they are not 
due to compulsion, not to the pressure of a foreign power, but to 
the nature of the willing being himself. 

This» then, is the definition of **free" : A being is free \i it is 
unrestrained, so that it acts according to its own nature. As is its 
nature, so it wills ; as it wills, so it acts. If we know the character 
of a man and the situation in which he is placed, we can predict his 
choice as the necessary result of his nature. His decision, although 
it is free and not under compulsion, is not an outcome of chance 
which might under the same conditions be different, but is the in- 
evitable result of necessity. 

If by free will we had to understand that the decisions of the 
will are the result either of chance or of absolute chance, the fore- 
most duty of the educator would be to make man unfree, to insert 
certain dominant ideas into his mind, destined to determine his will. 
The free man according to this definition of free will as being due 
to chance, would be a person whose actions are more whimsical than 
the fancies of lunatics. We reject this conception of the freedom 
of the will. 

In our opinion a will is free if it is unrestrained so that it can act 
according to its nature. Our conception of free will does not stand 
in contradiction to the doctrine of '* determinism " as defined by the 
**Cent\ir\' Dictionary" in its second sense : 

** Id geoeral, the doctrine that whatever is ar happeos is entirely determtaed by 
antecedent causes." 

We distinguish between (i) mechanical, (2) physical, (3} chem- 
ical, \\\ physiological, and (5) psychical events, 

A mechanical phenomenon is a change of place which does not 
involve a change of the constitution of the parts moved. E. g.^ a 
stone ts pushed ; its position is altered, but the stone remains the 



A physical phenomenon is an event in which the molecular 
state of the bodies in action is altered. Water heated becomes 
steam, frozen it becomes ice. The three states have diiferent molec- 
ular configurations. 

Chemical phenomena are such in which the constitution of the 
atoms is altered. The characteristic qualities of liydrogen, for ex- 
ample, are different when combined with different elements or when 
isolated. Each combination is a peculiar .substance with peculiar 
qualities and not a mixture or combination of the qualities of the iso- 
lated elements- 
Physiological processes are all those changes that take place in 
the h%'ing irritable substance of plants and animals, such as nutrition, 
growth, and propagation. Its characteristic features are (i) hun- 
ger or thirst, i. c. the want of certain materials (food), (2) the re- 
ception of the wanted materials by suction or other means, which in 
some cases are a quite mechanical or physical process, not unlike 
the afflux of oxygen caused by a burning candle or the suction of 
water by a sponge, and (3) the assimilation of food. The materials 
received are distributed in the places wanted, thus adding to the 
building up of the living substance according to the nature of its 
structure. This produces as a natural result (4) the phenomenon 
of growth with a preser\'ation of form. (5) Propagation is a special 
kind of growth ; it is the growth of a part that at some stage of its 
development becomes an independent individuak 

Psychical phenomena are such in which feelings and the mean- 
ings of feelings are the determinant factors. 

It is apparent that all tliese terms, mechanical* physical, chem- 
ical, physiological, and psychical, are mere abstracts. In describing 
a mechanical phenomenon, we limit our attention to the mechanical 
change. We tlo not mean to say that the body moved does not pos- 
sess chemicah physical, perhaps physiological, or even psychical 
qualities. The calculation of the curve of a jump is a mechanical 
problem, although the jumping body may be a human being. How- 
ever, the question why did the man jim^p» is a psychical question. 
The motive of the jump is an idea in that class of mental activity 
characterised as purpose. The man had an end in view. .'\nd this 

idea of an end to he realised i> the comb:nev1 ro>u]: of speciai v^on* 
ditions and of the character of the mar.. 

The difierent spheres of mechanica!, physical, che:v.ical, ph\s> 
iological, and psychical actions bein*: abstractions, it is obvious th,ii 
science when dealing uith so-called purely mechanical plior.oinena, 
has to do with a fiction. There are no purely mechanical phenom- 
ena. There are features of reality- which are purely mechanical : an^i 
these we call motions;. But the world does not consist ol motions 
only. It also possesses other qualities. 

The mechanical philosopher assumes that the world consists of 
matter and motion only, and so he feels warrantoii in the hope thai 
every event that takes place, the actions of man includtni, can bo o\ 
plained bj- the laws of motion. Vet the premiss is wrong, and wo 
may anticipate that the conclusion also will prove erroneous. .\nd 
so it is. 

The laws of motion are applicable to and will explain all mo 
tions ; but they are not applicable to that which is not motion. 

It is inconceivable how we can hope to e.xplain a fooling by iho 
laws of motion ; and so the fond hoj>e of explaining tho problems of 
the nature of the soul by mechanics is preposterous. No objoclion 
can be made to the possibility of explaining the delicate motions in 
the nervous substance of the brain by the laws of molar or molecular 
mechanics. But these explanations would throw no light upon the 
causation that takes place in the mind. The properly psychical p!\o- 
nomena, the properly intelligent action of thought, could not be ex 
plained in this way. For the world of mentality introduces (piite a 
new factor into the sphere of being. 

What is this new factor? 

The nature of mental activity consists in the symbolism of feel- 
ings. Feelings, being different under different conditions and the 
same under same conditions, become repre.sentative of their corre- 
sponding causes, and thus the objects of experience are depicted in 
feeling symbols. 

Representativeness, accordingly, is the nature of mind. 

The question, How certain brain-structures operate, is a <ju<s 
tion of the mechanics of nervous substance, and further, the 



question. How thought-operations take place, is a question, so to 
say, of logical mechanics. But the question, Why a certain idea 
responds to certain stimuli and not to others, does not admit of a 
mechanical explanation or formulation. The ans^ver to this ques- 
tion will be a description of the nature of the idea ; and the nature 
of the idea is not a motion : it is the meaning of which the idea is 

The action of a mind depends upon the meaning of certain sym* 
bols. A written or spoken word has a special meanings and this mean- 
ing becomes the determinant factor of mmd action. The meaning of 
a word is not a piece of matter, neither is it a motion. It is something 
si4i gfiterii, I do not say that there is any inexplicable myster\^ con- 
nected with it On the contrary, wonderful as the fact is, it is not 
mysterious ; it does not stand in contradiction to any other fact of 
nature. Symbols stand for something ; they indicate, denote, or 
signify something. This significance is called their meaning ; and 
mind is a system of symbols in states of awareness. 

Now^ neither states of awareness are mechanical, nor is the 
meaning of words anything mechanical. How can we hope for a 
mechanical explanation either of the soul or the mind or of any 
mental action ? 

Suppose, for instance, a general receives a message containing a 
few words. He opens the paper, he reads it, and all on a sudden, 
his mind is in a tumult of excitement. What is it that produces the 
excitement? Is it any motion? Yes! In a certain sense, it is a 
motion : it is the reading of the paper. This is the cause. Yet not 
the reading as such excites his consternation. He might read other 
messages all the day long without any such an effect. Plainly, the 
causative element of the cause is not the reading, not the motions of 
which the reading consists, not the shape of the written characters 
and their combinations in groups, called words. It is something^ 
more subtle even than that. It is the significance of the writing. It 
is the meaning of the written characters. It is the purport that is 
attached to the wordsymbols. 

The origin of mind accordingly introduces a factor which has 
nothing to do with mechanics; and the simplest psychical reflexes, 



including those physiological reflexes which we must suppose to 
have originated by conscious adaptation and then l»een submerged 
into unconsciousness, cannot be explained from mechanical or 
physical laws alone, 


While we thus reject the conception of the mechanical phiios- 
ophy and also of materialism, we do not sa}' that there are motions 
either in the brain or anywhere else which form exceptions to the 
laws of mechanics. The laws of mechanics hold good for all mo- 
tions. The laws of mtichanics are formal laws : they do not explain 
why bodies gravitate ; but they describe liow they gravitate ; and the 
latter is much more useful to know than the former. There is (as 
we conceive it) no deep secret in the problem why bodies gravitate; 
they gravitate because they possess a quality which attracts them to 
each other with a force directly as their masses and inversely as the 
squares of their distaaces. In a word» gravity is the intrinsic na- 
ture of masses, it is an inaHenablc part of their existence. Thus 
whenever bodies gravitate, we are confronted with an act of spon- 

Attempts have been made to explain gravitation without the 
assumption of spontaneity, by the pressure of an atom-surrounding 
ether. But that only defers the question ; for the spontaneity, in 
that case, would have to be placed in the ether. Whatever be the 
merits of the explanations of gravitation by a vis a Uri^o, we must 
recognise the fact that no motion can take place in the world, no 
pressure can be exercised, without there being somewhere some 
spontaneous something that moves or presses. Spontaneity is a 
universal feature of nature. 

Mr, Peirce uses the term ** spontaneity " in a different sense 
from ours. He identifies spontaneity with absolute chance. He 
means by it the irregularities that arise without cause, thus producing 
departures from law. We call that action spontaneous which is not 
due to external influence but springs from the nature of the things 
in action. 

Spontaneous is derived from the Latin spans, **will/' which as 
a noun was obsolete at the classical period of Roman literature and 



occurred only in such forms as sponte^ '^of one's own will, of one*s 
own accord." If a man acts of his own will, free from and not biassed 
by the influence of otlier men, his action is spontaneous. A free 
man's action is not arbitrary, unless arbitrariness* be the character 
of the man ; it is not an exception to law ; it is, if the character of the 
man is known, calculable in advance, for every free action is sponta- 
neous : it springs immediately from the character of the man ; it is 
the direct expression of his will ; it reveals the nature of his very 
being, thus showing the man himself, and not something beyond or 
outside of him. 

Taking the word spontaneity in this sense, we say : Masses 
gravitate spontaneously ; they are self-moving : their motion is due 
to their gravity, and gravity is their intrinsic nature. 

Exactly as the laws of mechanics explain the ** how " of motions 
but not why there is motion at all, the *^why*' depending upon the 
nature of each moving body, so the **how ^' of the brain-motions is 
explicable by mechanical laws, but the **why" depends upon the 
nature of the moving material. The brain-atoms are possessed of 
the same spontaneity as the atoms of a gravitating stone. Yet there 
is present an additional feature; there are present states of awareness, 
and these states of awareness possess meaning, both of which are 
items which the chemist cannot find by chemical analysis. Neither 
states of awareness nor their meanings can be weighed on any scales, 
be they ever so delicate, nor are they determinable in foot-pounds. 

Yet while mechanics is not applicable to mental facts, the realm 
of mentality is by no means to be surrendered to indeterminisni. 
Mr. Peirce describes the domain of mind as the absence of law and 
the prevalence of absolute chance, of an indetermined and inde- 
terminable sporting. This is not so. While the fact must be rec- 
ognised that the nature of the mind is not something mechanicaJ, its 
action is nevertheless determined by laws — not by mechanical laws, 

* Arbitrary, as used here, meaDs capricious, uncertain, unreasonable. A man's 
action is capricious if he is biassed by the pref*ent molive alone, without considering 
other motives which he would have under other circumstances. A deliberate man 
equalises, as it were, his actions by forming rules of conduct An arbitrary man 
does not recognise rules or laws, made either by himself or by others. 



but by psychical and mental laws. These psychical and mental laws 
are in one respect of exactly the same nature as mechanical laws; they 
describe the samenesses of certain facts of reality. And the facts of 
the ideal domain of thought, the facts of subjectivity, are no less 
reaj than the grosser facts of mechanical motion, which are the facts 
of objectivity. 

The term mechanical is often used in the sense of ** lacking life 
or spirit" (** Century Dictionary,*' p. 3^79), This is justifiable in 
so far only as when we speak of mechanical phenomena we do not 
mean psychical or any other phenomena. It is true that that which 
makes this or that idea respond to a certain stimulus is not a me- 
chanical but a mental quality^ but the action itself, in so far as it is 
a motion, is and remains mechanical. Thus it happens that the 
laws of mechanics, far from being anti-spiritual, are the means by 
which we learn to understand and objecti%'ely to represent the ac- 
tion of mental phenomena- 

In this connection attention may be called to the efforts of mod- 
ern logicians to construct thinking machines which will perform the 
work of mental operations in a purely mechanical way. You pro- 
pose the problem by adjusting certain indicators ; then you turn tlic 
crank, and the machine does the rest. The results will come out 
with unfailing exactness. 

The attempt made to construct thinking machines cannot as 
yet be called successful. Nevertheless they are not impossibilities. 
Calculating machines of various constructions are in practical use 
and doing satisfactory work, not only in addition and subtraction 
but also in multiplication and division, and even in extracting roots 
and in raising numbers to higlier powers. Calculations are un- 
doubtedly one kind of thought^ and if calculations can be performed 
by machines, there is no theoretical reason why we should not ht^ 
able to construct logical machines, which shall perform the opera- 
tions of deductive and even of inductive thought with perfect accu- 



Determinism does not make freedom impossible and natural 
laws do not suppress the spontaneity of nature. 

Natural laws are not a power forcing a certain mode of action 
upon things ; they are not an oppression of nature. Natural laws 
are simply a description of nature as nature is. There is no '' must " 
in nature in the sense of compulsion, as if there were two things, 
(i ) a master (i, e. the law) giving a command, and (2) a slave (i. e, 
the single facts) obeying the command. The situation is not dual- 
istic, but monistic. There is an **is"in nature, and this '*is" is 
constant. There is a certain sameness in nature. In spite of all 
changes it remains the same ; and thus even the apparent irregular- 
ities preserve throughout an unvarying consistency. The facts of 
nature express the character of nature ; they are nature herseU» 
Briefly, the **is" of nature (if we are permitted to personify her) 
does not describe that which nature must do, but that which nature 
wills to do ; it describes how she acts spontaneously, of her own free 
will, in conformity with her innermost being and consistently with 
her peniianent character. 

The main difference that obtains between the actions of inani- 
mate nature so-called and rational beings is not the absence and 
presence of spontaneity, (for spontaneity is in both. ) but the absence 
and presence of mind : and mind is not only the subjectivity of ex- 
istence ; mind is not merely sentiency, i. e, the awareness of feel- 
ings; mind is the representative symbolism of subjectivity. 

There are sufhcient reasons to assume that all objective exist- 
ence, which appears to us as matter in motion, possesses a subjec- 
tivity» the nature of which depends upon the mode of the interaction 
of its elements. This subjectivity appears in organised substance 
as feeling and develops naturally into mind. 

The essence of nature, accordingly, is not materiality, but spirit- 
uality. Materiality is the character of nature as it affects sentient 
beings; but its innermost self, as it were, its subjectivity, its psychical 
aspect is revealed in the appearance of the spirit-life of rational 
beings — of minds. 





While we fully recognise the spirituality of nature as nature's 
innermost essence and as an ineradicable feature of reality, we can- 
liot with Mr. Peirce place mind at the beginning of the world. There 
is a great difference between spirituality and mind. One is the source 
and condition of the other. One is permanent, the other is tran- 
sient. One is the abstract view of a universal quality of the world* 
eternal and everlasting, as much indestructible as matter and energy; 
the other is an individual formation that originates, grows, and de- 
velops ; that can be broken and built again ; that dies with the body 
and rises again in new generations ; that decays, as the foliage of the 
trees falls in winter, yet reappears, as the verdure reappears in 
spring ; for the life of nature is immortal. 

Mr. Peirce, regarding determinism as that view which does not 
recognise the freedom of will, has an original and in our conception 
a wrong view on the one hand of natural laws, which are to him mere 
habits acquired by the world, and on the other hand of chance, or 
arbitrary sportiveness, (i. e. that which is not determinable by law,) 
which he identifies with mind and with the spontaneity of freedom. 
Mind is to him the beginning of all. Mind remains mind, according 
to his view, so long as it is irregular, producing out of its own un- 
determined being sporadic effects without order or consistency. As 
soon as mind takes to hal>its, it grows mechanical ; by creating regu- 
larity' it disappears ; and the result is matter in motion according to 
mechanical laws. Matter, accordingly, is said to be *' effete mind," 
Law in our view is the divinity of nature ; according to Mr. Peirce 
it is the termination of nature's irregularities : it comes to suppress 
her freedom and to supplant her mentality by mechanicalism. An 
element of pure chance, however, survives, which appears in the 
free will of man, in miracles, and in nature^s irregularities, and this 
element of pure chance will remain until in the infinitely distant 
future, mind becomes crystallised into an absolutely perfect, rational, 
and symmetrical system. Such is in brief Mr. Peirce's view of the 
role played by mind in the world -process. 

Mr Peirce's views of chance and law seem to come to the res- 
cue of certain theological dogmas, which represent the world-order 
as the product of a divine mind. We doubt very much whether 


Mr, Peirce*s position be tenable even from the standpoint of the 
scientific theologian. For the order of the world, as it appears in 
natural laws, must be, and is recognised even by the theist, as part 
and parcel of God's eternal being. The scientist who formulates 
f//// s fir lie ae/rrpiifa/is certain facts of nature, say the ** how '* of gravi- 
tating bodies, describes a certain quality of God himself; he de- 
scribes something that is immutable, eternal, everlasting ; it is not 
the whole of God, but it is certainly one feature of Jahveh, of that 
w^hich is, w^as, and will be as it is. 

In contradistinction to Mr, Peirce, we recognise, that the regu- 
larity of the w^hole is preserved in the specificalness of its individual 
particulars, that there are samenesses in this world of changes and 
diversities, and that if all reality is regarded as being essentially the 
same throughout, all the diversities and apparent irregularities can 
very well be explained as resulting from peculiar forms, combina- 
tions, and relations. Furthermore, we recognise that natural laws 
are compatible with the spontaneity of nature and that the necessity 
with vvhici) a free man acts according to his character, does not re- 
verse his freedom of will. 

Nature is self-acting throughout : nature is free ; even inanimate 
nature is spontaneous. But a higher freedom rises w^ith the ap- 
pearance of mind. And there are degrees of this higher freedom 
w4iich can be determined with great exactness^ for they correspond 
to the range of the mentality of each creature. Mentality develops 
by the observation of samenesses, and it reaches rationality by the 
recognition of natural laws. The recognition of natural laws is a 
view of some natural phenomena in their eternal aspect, and w^e 
call them truths. So much is natural law and freedom interconnected 
that the recognition of natural laws widens the range of freedom ; 
and obedience to them raises man out of his dependence upon his 
surroundings to a state of dominion over the creation in wliich he 
becomes the master of natural forces. 

\\4iat a deep significance lies in the saying of the apostle : 
**The truth shall make you free ! *' 




Since Darwin's death, his theory, which in Germany more than 
elsewhere received its development, has but few decisive steps in 
advance to point to, even though the circle of its adherents has 
been enlarged and though in many respects and in special directions 
it has been rendered more complete and placed upon a firmer foun- 
dation. It is a gratifying fact, that most, if not all, of the recent 
discoveries in zoology, palaeontology, and particularly in develop- 
mental history, are easily and completely reconcilable with the prin- 
ciples originally established ; so that the views which we have 
reached on this subject have lost more and more the characters of 
a purely hypothetical fabric. 

But the accurate investigations of developmental history have 
unquestionably furnished the most important material in proof of 
the theory in question, and the principles established in this depart- 
ment, in the main the results of the labors of German investigators 
(E. von Baer, Fritz Muller, E. Haeckel), have been verified in a 
truly surprising manner. 

It is true that Darwin himself in no way undervalued the im- 
portance of the results of the studies in question, but how little the 
facts known at the time of the enunciation of his theory of natural 
selection sufficed, is most clearly proved by the fact that E. von 
Baer and Louis Agassiz, who at that time were perhaps the greatest 
authorities in embryology, assumed a hostile attitude towards the 



new Darwinian theory. Agassiz^s combination of tlie points of 
agree«ientof palaeontology and enibryology,his explanation of extinct 
forms as ''prophetic types," proved a veritable hindrance to the 
perception of the truth . and Carl Vogt, who was his co-w*orker at 
that time, appears to have been the last to set up any opposition to 
the '* fundamental biogenetic principle/' that the development of the 
individual repeats in an abbreviated form the history of his race. 
Vogt, formerly the champion of advanced views, appears to-day as 
the leader of the small band of the opposition. 

If- we compare the recently published fourth edition of Haeckel*s 
Anthropogeny, i8gi» and the eighth edition of his History of Crea- 
tioHy with the early editions, we cannot help remarking, with con- 
siderable astonishment, despite the enormous increase of fresh 
material, the fact that little in the old plans and principles of the 
\vork needs connection. Even the bolt! generalisations, the inference 
as to the identity of form of the original beginnings of all of the middle 
or higher classes of animals, the "Gastra?a Theory" of Haeckel, 
at first so violently opposed, the stress laid upon the equivalence of 
the blastoderms in the various orders of animals, nay, even many 
of the animal genealogies, really only asserted as a working hypoth- 
esis, have stood the test beyond all expectation ; although Du 
Bois-Reymond insinuated that the pedigrees of the heroes of 
Homer were more worthy of credit. To appreciate the complete 
victor)^ of these ideas one n%i%iA but refer to the discourse On 
Recapituiatitm in Emlfryohg}* with which A. Mi hies Marshall opened 
the meeting of the Biological Section of the British Natural Histon* 
Society at Leeds, September, i8go. 

The very conspicuous irregularities in the formation of organ- 
ised bodies, which formerly were regarded as monstrosities, or as the 
freaks and riddles of the formative instinct, the hare-lips, the cleft 
palates, cases of microcephaly, etc., or the conspicuous want of 
symmetry in the physical structure of the plaice and sole, formerly 
made use of by Mivart and Schimper as unassailable counterproofs 
of Darwin's doctrines, have shaped themselves into the most decisive 
verifications of his theory; as in fact, generally, a number of the 
most splendid evidences of the correctness of the theory have, as the 


result of exact investigations in organic evolution, proceeded from 
the most obstinate of its supposed difficulties. Thus, for example, 
as proof that birds are far removed from the other classes of verte- 
brates, the circumstance had been cited that certain parts connected 
with the visual organs are in them situated at the side of the brain, 
instead of on the dorsal surface, as is the case with the other ver- 
tebrates. But a more exact observation has shown that this varia- 
tion in formation is a secondary result, since in each previous period 
of development these same organs in the young birds lie, exactly as 
in the case of the other vertebrates, on the dorsal surface, and only 
shortly before leaving the egg do they move downward to the sides. 
In many cases where the development of parts prescrvablc in fossil 
conditions is under consideration, as for instance portions of the 
skeleton, the hard integuments, and the teeth, a direct proof may, 
by comparison, be furnished of the truth of the fact of the corre- 
spondence of the embryological formations of living animals with 
the final and permanent forms of their extinct representatives, a fact 
which was indeed acknowledged by Agassiz and Vogt, but com- 
pletely misunderstood. We need only to recall to mind the 
exact parallelism which Alexander Agassiz and Neumayer have 
demonstrated to exist in the case of echinoderms, Huxley, Marsh, and 
others in the formation of the wings of birds, the pelvis of birds, or 
the hoofs of horses, in order to stamp this view as one that cannot 
be refuted. 

Nevertheless, those opposed to this view, as Carl Vogt, His, 
Heufen, and others, have not abandoned their position as a hopeless 
one, and in recent years have relied particularly upon those cases 
which Haeckel, and before him, Fritz Muller, characterised as a 
falsification (cenogenesis*) or a supplementary alteration and abbre- 
viation of the natural process of development. ** Nature is no falsi- 
fier,'* these opponents proclaim with emphasis, and everything it 
does is correct and true, and ''this false heart alone brings untruth 
and deceit into the true heaven," they cry with Wallenstein. People 

♦ Cirnoi^trfidsisy from Kfiof, empty, fruitless (and yivtm^, birth) ; not from Knivu{\ 
common, the derivatives of which are sometimes written "c«'no." — Eu. 



who rely on verbal sophistries merely betray thereby their want of 
vahd coanter-arguments, A maia fides on the part of nature can of 
course never be the subject of discussion among reasonable beings, 
but a deviation in the process of development of certain varieties 
from the typical path of the development of the remaining varieties 
of the species, is//// as a falsification by every investigator who has 
thoroughly studied the regular processes, for the reason that it has 
a tendency to obscttrc the original facts. Thus, for example^ in the 
embryos of certain vertebrates the aesophagus is temporarily com- 
pletely closed, as Balfour has obser\^ed in young sharks, Bles and 
Marshall in frogs; and this state of affairs may well be considered 
as a falsification, since an animate being with a closed aesophagus is 
a natural contradiction, which can never have existed and here hap- 
pens as a supplementary and temporary process. 

As a rule such deviations from the normal course may be clas- 
sified as consequences of a prolonged residence of the animal germs 
in tlie egg or in the womb, the result of which is that owing to the 
presence of an abrmdant quantity of nourishing yolk, or through 
direct connection with the circulatory system of the mother, they in 
the early stages of their development are relieved of the necessity of 
acquiring nourishment through their own efforts, and therefore all 
the contrivances necessary to that purpose may be dispensed with. 
For this reason we find the primitive processes of development, as 
Professor Sollas has lately shown, most frequently preserved in 
marine animals which have never changed nor abandoned their ele- 
ment in the course of the history of their species, in the case of 
which, therefore, no occasion could ever have arisen for supplemen- 
tary changes in the process of their development. Much more fre- 
quently do we meet with this change in the case of fresh-water 
animals, for often the rapid currents of their elements, for example 
a river, will not suffer these to leave the egg in any very helpless 
larval condition, and in addition fresh water is subject to other un- 
favorable changes, as the drying up of streams. Also the larva? of 
carnivorous animals, which from the very beginning of independent 
life need more strength to acquire their means of existence, are so 
completely developed in the richly provisioned eggs in which they 



take their form, that they emerge therefrom in an almost perfected 
state of being, as, for example, young sharks and cephalopods. In 
this kind of animal life, as well as in the case of forms which are 
brought forth alive from the parent, although they see the light of 
day much later, comparatively, there takes place not only a great 
abbreviation of the first stages of existence in the entering upon a 
more direct path of development, but also changes occur in the form 
of the original designs because of the limitation of room due to the 
presence of yolk in the egg, the reason for which is easy to perceive. 
In many other cases the mechanical cause of the change in develop- 
ment can be directly recognised j for example, in the case of the tree- 
toad of the Antilles {I/yioiits martififtensfS)^ which, owing to the ab- 
sence of pools lasting through the dry season, is obliged of necessity 
to remain in the egg during its tadpole stage, that is to say, to 
skip this stage, as It were ; for which reason the formation of ex- 
ternal gills in its case is entirely omitted. 

The explanation of the origin of new organs seemed at Arst to 
afford an insuperable difficulty to the Darwinian theory, since, as 
Mivart objected, it was not possible to perceive how natural selec- 
tion could be able to effect the formation of new organs unless they 
executed corresponding functions from the very beginning. This 
diflficulty, however, has been completely overcome by the theory of 
altered functions {Furicihnswcchsiti ) which was first proposed by 
Dorhn, and particularly in recent years by Kleinenberg. According 
to this theory, in all these cases we have simply to deal with a 
gradual change in form of already existing organs, which, originally 
being used to perform one set of functions, are modified so as to per- 
form another Thus the later developed organs of mastication and 
the feelers of insects were originally organs of locomotion^ legs ; and 
these in the still earlier stages of creeping motion performed appro- 
priate functions as the crooked appendages of the body-rings. The 
wings of birds w^ere, in their progenitors, forelegs ; the tongue of 
air-breathing vertebrates originated from the fish-bladder, which be- 
fore that was chiefly an organ of swimming. 

The knowledge thus acf|aired of the natural connection of the 
processes of evolution also explains, according to Kleinenberg, why 



organs which are at present completeJy useless, must yet necessarily 
appear m the formation of the embryo ; for example, the gill-openings 
in the higher classes of vertebrates, which have no functions to per- 
form at any stage of vertebral development, and which furnished 
Meckel the first intimation of the fundamental biogenetic law. But 
as soon as it was explained that the gill-openings furnished the foun- 
dation of the development of later-appearing organs with actual 
functions to perform, it was rendered clear w^hy they should con- 
tinually recur : namely, because they form the indispensable links 
of a chain w^hich extends from the dim past of the type in question 
down to the present time. 

There is no doubt that profounder researches in evolutionary 
history will furnish still more important results : for instance, the 
more perfect elucidation of the pedigree of mammals ; for in this 
province even our domestic animals are not sufficiently investigated. 
Every new effort in this direction, for example the recent work of 
Klever on the evolution of the teeth of the horse, and other investi- 
gations concerning the formation of special organs, has invariably 
shown that much in this field yet remains to be discovered. We 
have only to recall to mind the recent investigations relating to the 
development of the pineal gland, which in the last decennium have 
also led to the discovery of a rudimentary occipital eye, which seems 
to have actually existed and performed functions in numerous early 
representatives of the vertebrates, but to-day is simply a fact of his- 
tory, and has given rise to an organ which Descartes considered as 
the seat of the soul. We may here also refer to the recent investi- 
gations concerning the earlier developmental stages of the duckbills, 
which have completely confirmed what the theory asserted in ad- 
vance and required ; namely, that they fill the vacancy between the 
egg-laying reptiles and the mammalia which bring forth their young 

Only a few years ago Car! Vogt vehemently opposed the opin- 
ion of the duckbills being transitional types, and sought to explain 
their inferior stage of organisation, which is also evidenced in their 
low blood temperature, as the results of a stunting process (degen- 
eration, so called). They formed a degenerated branch of mar- 

i::lrarv lorkesp-xt'ENce. 103 

supials. aothiiic njcre. Later, the remarkable ye: Icnc anticipated 
fact was revealed by Haacke azi Caliwell. :S>4. tha: the duckbills 
are egg-ia\-ing n^amaiaJs, a character which certair.Iy cculd no: have 
been acquired through dege:^erat:on. but which >in:p!y >hows that 
they are closely related to extinct reptilian forms. In one other re- 
spect, namely, with regard to their supply of teeth, the process of 
degeneration must indeed be admitted. On this point. Poulton and 
Thomas discovered a few years ago that in their early stages they 
really do possess true teeth, which, however, iust as in the case of 
certain carnivorous cetacea. later completely disappear, and are re- 
placed by a sort of homy teeth. This, however, is really not a true 
degeneration, but rather a special adaptation, doubtless benencial 
to the anima] in some way or other : and with as little reason as 
we may regard birds aF a degenerated race in comparison with their 
progenitors, because they have lost the numerous teeth which these 
possessed, -with just as little reason can we hold that the duckbills, 
in their general organisation, have suffered any retrogression worth 
mentioning. On the contrary, the recent investigations 01 Marsh 
and Lemoine concerning the mammals of the Jurassic and Cre- 
taceous periods point more and more distinctly to the- conclusion, 
that there existed among these mammals a ver%- large number which 
possessed the same degree of organisation as the duckbills of to- 
day, now represented by only a few species : a supposition which 
the adherents of the theor\- of evolution made twenty-five years ago. 
I do not know that the pedigrees of the heroes of Homer have been 
so well prcrse^^•ed : 

In many other directions, however, speculation of late years 
in Germany has considerably digressed from the facts of expe- 
rience and from all probability ; esjxrcially with reference to the 
questions of propagation, variation, and heredity. Here, first of all. 
are to be mentioned the works of Weismann. C'^r>t'r JU Cx^nHnuiidt 
dfs Kfimplasmas i>>5 - Die Be.icutun^ der sexufilen Fortprlanzun^ 
fur dU SfUcticnsthfvrie i^S6 . ZVr Riijkschriit in tUr Xtifur 1SS6 . 
/>/> B^deutuni: dfr Richtun^sk*">rp€r^hffi fiir dif Vererbun^^stheorif 
• I S S 7 . Di€ Hypx*thesf der Wr'jrbuf:^ von J V r. V/ r u n^rn i S S 9 , and 
C 'cber A mphimixis 1 89 1 . 



If we revert to the beginnings of this movement we shall find 
that it is intimately connected with the more exact study of the pro- 
cesses of fecundation as perfected through the researches of Strass- 
burger, the Hertwigs, and other investigators. In connection with 
the ideas of Nageli concerning the so-caJled idioplasm, the notion 
was reached that the matter determinative of heredity was contained 
in the nucleoli, and that by the union of the paternal and maternal 
nucleoli the sum-total of the parental hereditary tendencies is trans- 
mitted to the offspring. This view was to a certain degree verified 
by the experiments of the brothers Hertwig in removing the nucleoli 
of the eggs of the sea-urchin ; the result being that eggs containing 
the nucleoli alone, furnished, through artificial impregnation, results 
resembling the female parent, whereas eggs from which the nucleoli 
had been removed, furnished germs completely corresponding to the 
traits of the male parent. 

Other- processes of fecundation^ to which we shall soon recur, 
had since 1876 produced the impression in the minds of a number 
of naturalists that the germ-material led an independent life in the 
bodies of organisms, that it possessed only an internal develop- 
ment, and required from the body nothing but nourishjnent in order 
to multiply itself, and to develop its internal powers uninfluenced 
by the various vicissitudes of the body. In the year 1876 Gustav 
Jaeger in Germany, and Francis Galtonj a cousin of Darwin, al- 
most at the same time in England, called attention to the observa- 
tion made some time previously, that in certain animals, particu- 
larly in insects, the development of the egg into the young offspring 
begins with the withdrawal of a small portion of the germ from the 
component substance of the embryo, which remains at first un- 
changed and only later multiplies. This observation was general- 
ised and accepted. At the commencement of every sexual multipli- 
cation the germ-substance, after impregnation^ is divided into two 
parts, according to its future purpose; an ontogenetic or personal 
part, out of which the body is built up, and a phylogenetic or ger- 
minal part, which at first is stored up unused in the individual, but 
later furnishes new germ -cells. This idea led Weismann to his view 
of the continuity of the germ -plasm, which forms an unbroken line 



of descent from the first beginnings of the species and which is sim- 
ply nourished by the organisms in which it has its temporary abode. 
From this germ-plasm spring secondarily the cells tliat go to make 
up the body (soma); but from these soma-cells no new ^-^^rw-cells 
can originate, and consequently none of its inherent or adscititious 
qualities are capable of transmission. The somatic cells make up 
the mortal and perishable forms of life, while the germ -cells alone 
insure the further existence and immortality of the race. 

It is easy to perceive that these views, if they could be main- 
tained, would completely transform the Darwinian theory. Since, 
if the somatic cells, that is, the body-parts of animals and plants, 
with all their adaptations to soil and climate, to definite modes of 
life, etc, are to be deprived of every power to transmit hereditary 
characters, then the so-called Lamarckian theory, which should 
really bear the name of Erasmus Darwin, would be deprived of 
every foundation which it possesses. Neither the increase in 
strength of the members of the body, acquired by use and practice, 
nor their weakness created by their non-use could be inherited ; and 
in just as small a degree could changes caused by external influences, 
bodily injuries, sickness, entail consequences which were inherit- 
able. This being the case, then also all those views would be unten- 
able which seek to explain the important effects of time as the result 
of the accumulation and augmentation of the minute impressions 
of the external environment. If the variations which are generated 
by means of external influences are not capable of transmission, 
then the direct adaptation must commence at the beginning in the 
case of every following generation ; an accumulation is impossible. 

We can observe, however, in every particular case, the com- 
plete harmony in which every living being exists with its surround- 
ings and mode of life ; and observe in closely related species the 
most various adaptations to the elements in which they live: climate, 
food, nay, even to the particular companions with which they asso- 
ciate ; with the result that many plants have shaped the structure of 
their flowers to conform to the physical anatomy of the insect which 
ordinarily effects their fertilisation, and that animals assume the figure 
and form of some associate who is safe from hostile assaults, or even 



completely adopt different modes of life where it is necessary to 
enter a life-partnership with a strange animal or plant. But, grant- 
ing that the most widely extended capability of adaptation is a thing 
of daily experience, there still arises the question how we shall ex- 
plain this quality, which can only be brought about by slow degrees, 
without taking into account the factor of heredity in the transmis- 
sion of acquired qualities. The theory of We ism an n attempts this, 
in that it takes for granted an infinite variability in the germ -forma- 
tive materials, and guides the new forms and variations thus begot- 
ten into the really true path, that is, into the most successful 
paths, through the process of natural selection (that is, through the 
survival of the fittest as regards environment, and all other things). 
According to this doctrine, external circumstances have no direct 
influence whatever upon the variation of species, as Erasmus Dar- 
win, Lamarck, and the founder of the theory of natural selec- 
tion and all his followers up to that time supposed, but we have to 
have recourse to a pure theory of natural selection, and call to our 
aid an, even now, rather obscure phenomenon, occurring in con- 
nection with sexual impregnation, which has been called '* the ex- 
pulsion of the polar bodies," an extrusion of minute qualities of 
germ-plasm from the germ -cells while in union. By the processes 
of crossing, which continually recur, a vast number of the most 
manifold hereditary tendencies are united in the germ-materiaL 
Then certain of these are ejected, so that others acquire supremacy ; 
and in this manner the way is opened for the origination of a vast 
number of possible combinations. In this way the path is clear to a 
theory of perfect mechanical variabilit}-, in which tlie germ-material 
has only to transmit the characters which spontaneously arise in it, 
and yet affords an investigator endowed with any imagination the 
possibility of understanding the origin of the great variety and final 
purpose of the world. It is Frohschaminer's ^'principle of the im- 
agination as the creator of the world*' translated into comprehensi- 
ble formula?. The simplicity thus reached by the elimination of all 
direct influences from the external world, has won the adherency of 
many investigators following in Darwin's steps, particularly in Eng- 
land ; but whilst Wallace, Galton, Ray Lankcster, and others have 



expressed their full assent to it, other and not less eminent athori- 
ties, as Herbert Spencer, Haeckel, Fritz Muller, and Virchow, 
have emphatically rejected it. 

The reasons in favor of this assumption are, as is indeed the 
whole view itself, mainly of a theoretical nature : the arguments of 
the opposition are divided into philosophical and experiential prop- 
ositions. The philosophical opposition is mainly based on the fact 
that, from the very beginning, there is assigned to the germ-mate- 
rial, as it unceasingly continues its existence, an infinite variety of 
capacities which the external world cannot affect, and that all pro- 
gress and advancement takes place as the result of the loss of the 
originally endowed powers and tendencies. On this theory a family 
of acrobats or race-horses would not acquire their powers through 
the gradual augmentation by practice of their feats of skill and en- 
durance, but because these powers were originally resident in them, 
and every factor incompatible with them was gradually eliminated. 
On the other hand, these views approach in a dangerous degree to 
the theories of predestination and preformation, the overthrow of 
which has been justly regarded as one of the greatest advances of 

Still more important must be considered the objections of em- 
pirical science, which up to this time was completely convinced of 
the heredity of acquired qualities. Popular experience, as well as 
that of physicians, universally speaks of inherited disease-germs, and 
in certain cases, particularly in mental diseases, physicians are so 
thoroughly convinced of their inheritability that the first question 
put to the relatives of such sufferers usually is whether the dis- 
ease has ever appeared in the parents or family of the patient. This 
fact is so deeply grounded in the general belief, that the modern 
naturalistic school of novelists, the school of Zola, Ibsen, and their 
associates, are wont to devote their main efforts to the problem of 
inherited evils. Now the inheritability of certain evil conditions, 
even though proved, would not by any means be an absolute dis- 
proof of Weismann's theory ; for, inclined as much as we may be to 
derive diseases from mistakes and sins against a natural mode of 
life, such as colds, drunkenness, dissipation, mental and bodily 



over-exertion, we yet cannot deny a priori that blastogenic diseases, 
or diseases originating In the germ-plasm, may exist, which with- 
out any doubt would then be transmissible. It also does not lie 
be} ond the realms of possibility that congenital malformations, such 
as hare-lips, supernumerary fingers, and the defects which show a re- 
markable disposition to heredity, fall into this category. These 
blastogenic germs of disease would then, of course, have to be dis- 
tinguished from the somatogenic diseases (or the diseases produced 
in the body by external causes), which never could be inherited. 

From this point of view the question as to the hereditary con- 
sequences of external injuries has given rise to great efforts to prove 
experimentally the truth of this belief, which has existed for cen- 
turies. In almost evt-ry part of the globe we meet with the asser- 
tion that hornless cattle, such, for example, as are bred in South 
America, or the tailless cats of the Isle of Man, or other domestic 
animals with similar deficiencies, are descended from a progenitor 
which lost its horns or its tail through disease or other mishap. 
Since now, recently, similar assertions have again been put for- 
ward to tlie effect that tailless cats are found among the descendants 
of feline progenitors who have been robbed of their posterior orna- 
ments by an act of violence^ and these cases have been discussed in 
connection with the pangenesis theory of Darwin, according to %vhich 
each part of the body is believed to supply material contributions to 
the germ-plasm, Weismann determined to institute experiments on 
this point. He started the breeding of white mice whose tails were 
regularly cut off, without finding as a result, from among 840 
young ones derived from such mutilated progenitors, a single one 
having a malformation or missing tail. However, even this experi- 
ment cannot be regarded as an absolute proof, as it at first view 
might seem, and the negative result was foreseen by the writer of 
these lines. It is a clear conclusion that if in the case of many 
vertebrates, for example, salamanders and lizards, as well as in the 
case of most invertebrates, missing limbs and laits are renewed in 
the course of their lifetime, it would indeed be very remarkable if 
their renewal should not take place, at least in the case of the com- 
plete rejuvenation of new birth. 






Darwin himself had concluded, from his own experience and 
that of others, that injuries and similar inflicted acts of violence are 
the cause of hereditary consequences only in cases where they bring 
about some long-continued and wasting disease, and thus produce 
some permanent effect on the bodily constitution. For this reason, 
especially injuries to main nerve-tracts in parts near the centres are 
readily accompanied by hereditary consequences, because they in- 
terfere with the nutrition of the members supplied by them* 
Brown -S<§quard has observed in a great number of cases of guinea 
pigs whose nerve-roots he had severed, that the offspring of the ani- 
mals operated upon developed diseases of the eyes, ears, and other 
organs which conformed regularly to the character of the operation, 
and could therefore be predicted ; and also noted malformations 
and deficiences, amounting even to the complete disappearance of 
the eye-balls, such as never arise or have been observed in these 
animals without violent interference. His positive results regard- 
ing the hereditability of the evil consequences of disturliing opera- 
tions have a decided advantage in numbers and scope over the nega- 
tive results of Weismann ; and it is not clear how the belief in the 
non- hereditability of somatic conditions will accommodate itself to 

But if conditions of the body produced by such sudden inter- 
ferences have imder certain circumstances entailed hereditary con- 
sequences, how much more should we expect this same result from 
slowly effected constitutional changes, which external influences, 
working uninterruptedly for hundreds of years, bring about in an 
organism which has been transported into a new element, into new 
surroundings, or into a different climate. Not at all infrequently 
does the coming together and union of two new organisms beget 
hereditary changes which can be explained only through the direct 
influence of the one upon the other. Thus, for example, in the 
case of plants in hot countries which are protected against the as- 
saults of leaf-devouring ants by body-guards of smaller ants, and 
also in species of quTte different families, as, for example, in Curapia 
of the order Ei4fthorlnace(t, and in some Triplaris species among 
the Pofy^onacciZ, we find little chambers, approachable through 


small openings in the stems, which serve the ants protecting the 
plants as dwelling and breeding places. Are we to believe now, in 
regard to this fact, that these plants, so different in their nature, 
have produced through voluntary variations the stems which con- 
tain these openings, or are we to believe we have to deal here with 
openings acquired through inheritance which originally were bored 
in the stems by the ants at the most appropriate points? Surely 
the first conclusion, which would uphold Weismann's theory, has 
but a very slight degree of probability in its favor, whilst the lat- 
ter, which would overthrow his view, is very highly probable. And 
such examples could be cited in great numbers. 

It is also to be remembered that the power of variation is not 
exhibited solely in sexually created individuals, as it should be ac- 
cording to Weismann's theory, but frequently also in non-sexual 
multiplication, where no amphimixis (mingling) occurs. It is well 
known that the majority of the sporting varieties of our trees, for 
example, Fai^us sanguineiiy and the so-called weeping varieties, that 
is, abnormal varieties with pendent twigs, forms with split, spotted, 
or white leaves, are wont first to appear on single branches of old 
trees, in which the continuity of the protoplasm unquestionably ex- 
isted, but no amphimixis or extrusion of the polar bodies took place. 
It is also the generally received opinion of naturalists that the low- 
est classes of animal and plant life are universally multiplied by 
non-sexual means. And if this is so, it is not clear how higher 
forms which sexually propagate can be derived from, them, if the 
latter have originally to furnish the fundamental conditions of vari- 
ation. The adherents of Neo-Darwinism will, accordingly, have to 
furnish many additional facts if they wish to invest their theory 
with any degree of probability. 

Carus Sterne. 




The study of personality, from the point of view of patho- 
logical psychology, has already supplied us with numerous books. 
M. Alfred Binet, in his fine work, Les Alterations de la Person- 
nalite, has undertaken to present systematically to us these alterations 
in their entirety, while restricting himself to ascertained results, and 
avoiding disputed points. He exhibits to us the •* dismemberment 
of the ego" in diseased states, the frequent rupture of that ** unity 
of consciousness" which is the principal attribute of the normal in- 

Clinical observation has established the existence in certain 
subjects of successive personalities, and in others that of co-existing 
p>ersonalities ; the experiences of suggestion have at last allowed of 
analogous morbid phenomena being provoked, in such a manner 
that cases may be varied and rendered still more instructive. The 
simple movements provoked in normal persons in states of distrac- 
tion, of which many very curious examples may be found in M. Bi- 
net*s book, are the recognised mark of a subconsciousness ; but it 
is often possible, under the same conditions and with the same pro- 
cesses, to provoke in a hypnotisable hysteric individual an actual 
sub-personality, that is to say, to augment the phenomena which 
attentive observers have long since remarked in everyday life. 

It cannot be doubted that, on the one hand, it is possible to 
produce in an insensible limb a great variety of subconscious ac- 
tions, and all sorts of reactions ; and when they are recorded by the 
graphic method, it is perceived that with the fingers of his insensible 
hand, the subject has made movements the form of which varies 
according to the receiving apparatus (the dynamograph, drum, 
pencil, etc.). These movements thus exhibit the truly psychological 
marks of adaptation, and seem to reveal the existence of an intelli- 
gence which is other than that of the ego of the subject, and which 
acts without his assistance and even unknown to him. 



On the other hand, numerous experiences of very different kinds 
show that the subject whose anesthetic arm, for example, is priclced, 
can have an idea of the stimulation, although he does not perceive 
it. He does not feel the prickings, but the excitation calls forth the 
idea of their number : he counts them as a normal individual would 
do; **only, in hysterical individuals, the first part of the process 
occurs in one consciousness, and the second in another/* * 

It can hardly be denied that these different consciousnesses are 
distinct ; since experience proves that each can have its own per- 
ceptions, its own memory, and even a moral character. However, 
their relative value with respect to each other matters little. We are 
compelled to consider, with M, Rihot, the ego as a ** coordination *' 
of states of consciousness, admitting of infinitely variable groupings. 
According to the old conception of the ego, the personality, with re- 
spect to secondarj^ consciousnesses, was compared to a coachman 
who had ceased to have control over his horses. This comparison 
is now insufficient, since it may happen that the coachman falls 
asleep on the box, and that one of the horses then governs the set, 
regulating, more or less perfectly, the pace of the others by its own 
gait. Spiritualists, however, will never consent to put the ego in 
the place of the coachman. '^ A stone detached from the complex 
structure of the personality," M. Binet now^ tells ns, **can become 
the starting point of a new structure, which rises rapidly by the side 
of the old. Whereupon a disaggregation of the psychological ele- 
ments is produced/' This comparison is certainly more precise and 
more in accordance with facts. 

Moreover, there remains to be explained how the mental com- 
pound which constitutes the ego has been constructed from its ele- 
ments. M. Binet shows, a propos of this question, that the associa- 
tion of ideas is powerless to explain the genesis of personality ; 
associations alone, as proved by the experiences of suggestion, 
are not sufficient to restore forgotten memories. Neither is memory 
the sole factor in personality ; since, in certain conditions a person 

* The hypothesis of the division of consciousness explains, consequently, much 
better than th,TLt of the motive force of mental imri^es, the facts of antomatk writing 
(spiritism) (The works of Binet, Roberty, and Lombroso are published by Alcan I 



may, while preserving the consciousness and the memory of certain 
of his mental states, nevertheless repudiate these mental states and 
consider them as foreign to himself* 

This question is still an open one. But there exist certainly 
some grounds for our seeking in the division of consciousness the 
key to certain psychological facts, like unconscious cerebration. 
Such a key would be the action of detached consciousnesses and de- 
tached memories, that afterwards immediately enter the current of 
general consciousness. Finally, '' k is possible," as M. Binet says 
in conclusion, *'that consciousness may be the privilege of certain 
of our psychic acts ; it is possible also that it exists everywhere in 
our organism, and it may be even that it accompanies every man- 
ifestation of life/' 

In his new work, Agnosticismc, M, de Robkrty studies with spe- 
cial care the position of modern doctrines with regard to the un- 
known, the great x of philosophic speculations — God, Idea, Matter, 
Noumenon or Unknowable. Although perhaps a little hastily written, 
and somewhat obscure, his book nevertheless enforces conviction. 
"Our conception of the world/' says M» de Roberty, ''embraces solely 
the things that we know (feel, perceive, imagine, analyse, compare, 
etc.), and does not comprise the least jot or tittle of what we do noi 
know. Far us, therefore, there can be no question of any relations 
except between two classes of known elements : that which consti- 
tutes the object of scientific researchj and that which is outside of 
science. The latter class represents otir unknown, which is always 
rtlative and pureiy human. ''^ Here, indeed, we have the true point 
of view, that which we shall all reach, though perhaps at first un- 
known to ourselves ; and I shall be much surprised if the philosophers 
do not at last decide to wipe out the formidable Unknowable set up by 
Spencer as the ultimate entit>^ We shall speak no more of the 
fathomless universe, but of the still unexplored universe ; of the un- 
known, not of the unknowable. 

There is, however, another aspect of the question. Let us sup- 
pose the unknown got rid of ; or to be more precise, — and if we re- 
gard with M. de Roberty the psychic centres as special receivers in 



wliich the cosniical energy empties itself, resolving itself into sen- 
sation and idea, and from whence it spreads itself anew as motion, 
— let us suppose that we have summed up all the energies received 
and emitted^ and verified the law which reduces memory to the con- 
servation of energy ; let us suppose in fine that philosoph}' shall 
have found in the ego the synthesis of the non-ego, expressed **in 
symbolic abbreviations and in signs," and shall have realised the 
* logical monism" which reduces things to their ideas : would the 
intellect — and would the sensibility — even then be completely satis- 
fied ? Can we conceive a state in which the curiosity of man as to 
all that concerns himself will be at rest^ and when he will cease to 
be disquieted about the cause of suffering and of life? Kant long 
ago propounded this question* But, according to M. de Roberty, 
the thinker who is **a prey to the afflux of emotion referred to by 
Kant," the man ** given over to the desire for another kind of knowl- 
edge than that of experience," are, in the category of intellectual 
emotions, diseased and '^perverted" persons. ''The sentiments, 
so varied in aspect and in strength, which inspire us," writes he, 
'* the contemplation of the unknown, determine the mental iHusion 
which materialises, so to say, our ignorance and transforms the un- 
known into the unknowable." 

Would it be inconsistent, however, to preserve the emotion of 
the unknown without ** materialising" it, without pronouncing any 
dangerous scientific ij^ftoraifimits f M. de Roberty does not accept 
this situation, — which was that of Littr6. I do not know whether 
any one will discover the ** vaccine," as he calls it, ** of the pessimist 
emotion which has produced agnosticism or latent religiosity." If 
this constitutes a mental malady, I fear much that it will be incur- 
able. As long as there is un happiness in life, there will also be 
unsatisfied curiosity, and for a very long time to come, inquietude. 

if. ^ 

The last publication of lo.mbroso and laschi, Le Crime poli- 
tique ei hs RcvohttionSy par rapport au droits 6 Panthrapologie crimi- 
neile ei d la science elts gouvernemetit (Political Crime and Revolutions, 
in their Relation to Law, Criminal Anthropology, and the Science 
of Governmeni) of which we here have a French translation, is, I 



will not say, the worst written, but the most confused work imagin- 
able. Its arrangement is clear, but its examples are given without 
atiy order whatever. The facts presented are abundant, but they are 
taken rather too much at haphazard, and often too uncritically. The 
worst is that its verv' thesis is weak, badly formulated or elusive in 
places. What a pity it is that so much erudition should be expended, 
and so many valuable data be brought together without better success 
in displaying to the best advantage these riches, and also, let me 
say, without so many times having had occasion to appear so clearly 
in the wrong I M» Lombroso remains unmoved, unfortunately, in his 
high sounding and unqualified hypothesis of ** diseased genius/' He 
continues to develop it and to defend it in this latest book of his, 
which is replete with instructive details, and which is undoubtedly 
the first considerable attempt at an etiology of revolutions and of 
political crime. 

The complex doctrine of Lombroso could be sufficiently summed 
up, if 1 am not mistaken, by uniting word to word — by the mathe- 
matical sign of equalit>^ — philoneism (or the love of novelties) with 
the revolutionary spirit, the revolutionary spirit with genius, genius 
with insanity, insanity with criminality, and criminality, finally, with 
progress. But what a detestable thing progress would then be! 
We should have to protect ourselves against it as we do against a 
pestilence. The evolution of societies does not take place without 
great waste and loss, as we all know. It should be carefully shown 
what these losses are. The study of the conditions of social progress 
ought to be made in greater detail than is here found. The terras 
of the imagined equation, which here hovers before our eyes, should 
in fine, if any comparison is to be effected between them, be sub- 
jected to a much more exact quantitative and qualitative analysis. 

For example, let us take genius. Of what kinds of genius does 
Lombroso speak? It seems to be sufficient for him that a man has 
attracted attention, and made himself talked about, to entitle him 
to be called great, while perhaps he is only a blusterer, a braggart, 
a servile imitator, a mere homunculus. In this way the quantity of 
geaiuses and talented individuals he has unearthed is something 
extraordinary. The result of this is a radical error in his tables of 



the distribution of geniuses. The superiority that he attributes, in 
this respect, to certain of our southern departments, as compared 
with the Norman departments, for example, would have to be re- 
versed if we considered the relative quality and kind of the genius 
involved. For the same reason, the relation established between 
genius and republican modes of government is undoubtedly not so 
precise and simple as is stated. But the worst of it is that in Ihiis 
augmenting the number of men of genius, it is found that we have, 
in consequence of the above mentioned equation, also increased the 
number of the demented and the degenerate I 

Ify moreover, it is true that the conservative mind, with less 
genius, insanity, and criminality, is evidence of the senility of the 
race, how can we accept the thesis that genius and the spirit of 
innovation are also absolute evidence of a neurasthenic condition? 
Shall we deny sound nerves to robust and vigorous youth? This, 
indeed, is not what Lombroso wished to assert. Yet the famous 
thesis always confronts us: ZaM anguh in her ha. The least sign of 
degeneracy is enough for him to brand a man, and not only are al! 
geniuses in his eyes unbalanced, but even the insane are without 
any ado baptised geniuses ; with the result that all is heaped to- 
gether in one great mass — genius, insanity, and spirit of revolution. 

I shall not dwell any longer on these criticisms. They are 
simply intended as an admonition to the learned M, Lombroso 
against the allurements of a badly founded theory, and against the 
dangers arising from a too hasty preparation of his books. What- 
ever may be its defects, he has at least brought together in his 
present book many ideas. I advise all to read with care what he 
says about women (and how many will find him misoneistic on this 
point-), concerning their great influence in rtbelihns, which are 
always barren of results, and their impotence in revolutions, which 
are always productive of good. In the second part of his workj 
namely, in the section entitled Juridical ami F&iiiicai Ap(>!iaiiions^ 
nearly all he says is to be commended. 1 agree with the authors — 
or I do not wish to forget M. Laschi — as to what they tell us in re- 
lation particularly to pettifogging parlementananism and public 
instruction. Their conclusions are perhaps not connected with the 


thesis in any very intimate manner. But this is not of much conse- 
quence, as they possess an independent value of their own. 


In a previous communication I referred to the work of Savvas- 
Pacha on Musulman jurisprudence. I have now to announce a 
work entitled Souvenirs du Monde musulman, by M. Ch. Mismer, 
(published by Hachette,) the fourth and last volume of a valuable 
series which is greatly deserving of attention. M. Mismer, who has 
lived a long time in the East — at Constantinople, in Crete, and in 
Egypt — and was acquainted with the leading personages of the 
Empire, does not hesitate to return here to the theory which he set 
forth more than twenty years ago in his Soirees de Constantinople , his 
theor}', namely, of the social advantages, and even the superiority, 
of Islamism over Christianity; subject however to the special worth 
of the races which belong to either of these two forms of religion. 
This opinion is not lightly uttered, and it will appear the more 
striking in view of the present crisis of social and moral decomposi- 
tion which is now spreading throughout the western nations. 

In the work of M. Mismer will be found some of the great and 
striking qualities of the observing and thoughtful mind. In con- 
nection with a special problem of great importance in public in- 
struction, that of heredity, I shall call to the attention of my readers 
the following statement, made with reference to the young men of 
the ** Egyptian Mission" in France, directed by M. Mismer for ten 
years. **The capacity of a pupil," says he, ** was always found to 
be intimately connected with the cerebral culture of his ancestors 
and the faculties constituting the superiorities of his race." **It was 
the same," adds he, **from the moral standpoint." Undoubtedly, 
if M. Mismer had taken the pains to make a note of the facts 
summed up in his statement, and to present the full case of the nu- 
merous pupils that he has had under his care, he would have been 
able to furnish science with data of the greatest value. Let us at 
least receive his lessons as he offers them to us. They are the fruit 
of the experience of a **man of action," and it speaks well for an 
observation that it has rendered good service in practice. 

LuciEN Arr^at. 



7> /*if Editor tff The Af&nist : 

Your ''note of inquiry " mentioned on p. 6ii of the last A/onis/ is answered in 
foH by Littre in Au^^tstf Comic ^t h\ Phihsophie Positive, where Tiirgot's name 
heads the third chapter. He shows that the latter discovered the law of the three 
stages, theological, tn eta physical, and positive, by the following quotation from his 
liistoire d(s progrts ,te /\'s/>rif htimtiifi. 

"While the conneciion between physical effects was yet unknown, nothing was 
more natural than to supjxjse that they were produced by mtelhgent beings, invisible 
and resembling ourselves : for what else could they have resembled ? Everything 
that happened without the intervention of man. had its god, whose worship was 
soon established by fear or hope, and this worship was conceived in accordance 
u^ith the deference accorded powerful men ; for the gods were only more powerful 
men and more or less perfect according as they were the product of an age more or 
less enlightened as to rhe true perfections of humanity. When philosophers had 
recognised the absurdity of these fables, without however having obtained true 
light upon natural history, they imagined an explanation of the causes of phenom- 
ena by abstract expressions, such as essences and faculties ; expressions that never- 
theless explained nothing and that were reasoned about as if they had been beings, 
new divinities substituted for the old ones. These analogies were followed out, and 
faculties were multiplied to account for each effect It was only very late, in ob- 
serving the mechanical action that bodies have upon one another, that other hypo- 
theses were drawn from this mechanics. (f/V tettf mitani^ftf) which mathematics 
could develop and experience verify " 

Littre calls attention to ''the great sureness of judgment" that led Turgot to 
cite only physical phenomena when he spoke of those that had ceased to be inter- 
preted either theologically or metaphysicaHy *' When he wTote this passage, posi- 
tivity (I use this word, a necessary creation of M. Comte's) was only beginning to 
reach chemical phenomena and had not yet attained those of biology and sociology/* 

But. says Littre, '* after reserving the rights of priority for this eminent thinker, 
there is nothing to prevent M. Com te from keeping all the part that he had made 

CKiiicisMSANn i':>v.i>>u.'Ns. 119 

himself and that belongs to him. Three principal p-'ints mark Corate 5 init-pen- 
dence of Turgot. The latter saw in the conception nothing n.^re than an idea to 
meditate upon ; Comte saw in it a sec: /.v.«ical Law : Turcot did not attach to it a 
sketch of human devel-^pment . Ccmte developeii with the aid of this law the whole 
historical series: Turjc-.^t did not perceive that he held one of the necessary elements 
of a philosophy . Cumte in the same digh: cf thoujjht. went from history Lvcome 
science to philos^Dphy become positive The sociological law. isolated in Turgot. 
makes part, in Comte. of a vast whole : there were therefore two independent crea- 
tions. Either M. Comte had not read Turgot. or. more probably, he had read him 
at a time when this passage, which to-day awakens attention, had no particular 

The fourth chapter in Littre's Life of Comte has for heading the names of Kant 
and Condorcet. The whole of the former's remarkable sketch of general history is 
given and reference is made to the letter in chap. viii. where Comte. in i^J4. being 
twenty-six years old. says to M. d Eichthal. his former pupil. "I have read and 
reread with infinite pleasure Kants little treatise : it is prodigious for the epoch, 
and if I had known it six or seven years sooner it would have saved me trouble. I 
am delighted that you have translated it : it can contribute very efficaciously to pre- 
paring minds for positive philosophy. Its jjeneral conception or at least its method 
is still metaphysical, but the details show the positive spirit at every instant. I had 
always regarded Kant not only as a very strong head, but as the metaphysician that 
approaches the nearest to positive philosophy. But this reading has greatly forti- 
fied and especially given precision to my conviction in that regard. If C^ondorcet 
had had knowledge of this writing, which I do not believe, very little merit would 
remain to him. since he can pretend only to that of the conception, which is almost 
as firm and. in some respects, even clearer in Kant As for me. after this reading 
I can find in myself, up to the present time, no other value than that of having 
systematised and fixed the conception that had h»een sketched by Kant unknown to 
me, which I owe chiefly to a scientific education ; and even the most positive and 
distinct step that I have taken after him. seems to me only the discovery of the law 
of the passage of human ideas through the three stages. the*.>logical. metaphysical, 
and scientific ; a law that appears to me to be the foundation of the work whose 
execution Kant has counselled. I thank my lack of erudition to-day ; for if my 
work, such as it is now. had been preceded by a study of Kant's treatise, it would 
have lost much of its value in my eyes I cnncei\e now, as you said. that, for the 
German philosophers that are familiar with this treatise, my work will really have 
a great effect only with the second part." Thij» work was a short one reprinted in 
Saint-Simon's Cntctt'ii-tur ■/••- inin-fn,-: and called "A System of Positive Pol- 
itics." It had been inserted two years bef*Te. under the title of "A Plan of the 
Work Necessary for the Reorganisation of Society." in a pamphlet of Saint-Simon's, 
without Comtes name, and it was Ixrcause the latter insisted, this time, upon an 
acknowledgment of his authorship that Saint-Simon broke with him The "second 



part," which was to produce the great effect upon the German philosophers, never 
appeared ; or rather, it soon grew to be the Course of Pcsifive PJiiioSi>p/n% begun on 
the 2d of April, 1826, before Humboldt, Blainville, and other celebrated listeners. 

The term poiitive phihsitphy had long been used by Saiut -Simon and his schopl, 
Comte amonj; the rest, not in the special sense that the latter now gave it, but as a 
" generic name for the whole of science/' The first use of the words as we now 
understand them is in a letter from Comte to M. d^Eichtbal, dated Aug, 5, 1824, 
'•I cannot help recalling your judiciotis reflection upon the influence that social 
physics, once formed, will have upon scientific philosophy. I go even further than 
you, for I think that it will be only then that a veritable philosophy of the sciences 
can exist. All the philosophical ideas that are tbt?re to-day, although verj' precious 
up to that time, appear to me to have nothing more than a simply provisory (pro- 
visoire) character. I shall speak a little about this relation in the general preface 
that I announce to you, where I shall explain that the true title of my work would 
be pfuifiviT phi/i>sophy^ and that if I preferred poIUiis^ it is because that ia the most 
urgent philosophical application and the one that is to found the science, but that 
later I or you or others will complete this system of ideas by the encyclopedic re- 
coinage of all our positive cognitions (conuaissances), which ought really to be con- 
ceived as a single mass, although, for good culture, it is indispensable to preserve 
and to push even, in one sense, further than it is, the division of labor, so that each 
special savant can always, subsfqueolly, conceive the relation of his branch and 
even of his twig to the universal trunk/' 

In a letter of about this date Comte refers to his habit of never rewriting any- 
thing. His memory permitted him to look upon a volume as finished when it had 
been thought out and before a line had been written. But even in his letters we 
notice some of the disadvantages of this procedure, which, while conducive to unity, 
sacrifices literary form. 

It is true that Comte studied under Saint-Simon ; but. according to Littre, his 
purely philosophical dependeuce was very slight, while his influence upon his 
master was important. "What forms the distinguishing char.icteristic of Saint- 
Simon at the epoch when he lived, is the social destination that he assigns without 
hesitating to the ideas that preoccupy him. He has, as we have seen, only the most 
confused notion of what this philosophy will be ; but, no matter what it is to be, be 
consecrates it in advance to the reorganisation of society/' 

As regards Condorcet, Comte entbysiastically acknowledges his indebtedness 
to the ''Sketch of an Historical Table of the Progress of the Human Mind." and 
even goes beyond the facts, as be did in his praise of Kant. 

Littre makes a fair division of credit among others as well as those already 
named, and concludes as follows: " Turgot bad discov^ered that human conceptions, 
at first theological, afterwards become metaphysical and end by being positive, 
Kant had known that history is a natural phenomenon, subjected to a determinate 
course, and Condorcet, pushed harder than his predecessors by advancing time, ' 



{he had been condemned lo death) " had attempted to trace a table thai should put 
in evidence the enchainment of the progresses of civilisation. These are great 
things, but they are still only rudiments; for neither Turgot nor his successors 
make use of the discovered law to found upon this general fact evolution ; Kant, 
who perceives clearly the u<?cessity of conceiving history as regulated by the condi- 
tions inherent to humanity, is unable to base this important notion on ajiy thing bet- 
ter than an i^ priori idea'* (the metaphysic^al principle rtiat nature does nothing in 
vain, and that as human faculties do not reach their development in the individuals 
who is ephemeral, they must do so in the species, which is durable) "and thus he 
leaves il incapable of fixing the attention of a century whose tendencies were more 
and more positive ; lastly Condorcct has no other guide than the negative philoso- 
phy of the eighteenth century in a work to which it could bring only contradiction/* 

John Stuart Mill says of Comte that *' far from pretending lo originality when 
he had really no right to do so. he was eager to attach his most original thoughts 
to every germ of a similar idea that he met with among his predecessors." 

Speaking for himself. Littre says of the law of Ibe three stages, '* I do uot reject 
it, I restrain it. As long as we remain in the scientific order and consider the con- 
ception of the world first theological, then metaphysical, finally positive, the law of 
the three stages has its full efficacy in directing the speculations of history ... 
But in history all is not comprised in the scientific order, M, Comte, who has said 
somewhere that it is necessary lo suppose, at the beginning of humanity, certain 
notions that were neither theological nor metaphysical, has indicated the germ. I 
will not say of my objection, but of my restriction. In fact this law of I he three 
stages comprehends neither industrial, nor moral, nor aesthetic development. It has 
however, the excellent character of being relative to the speculations in which evo- 
lution by filiation is most manifest and consequently of giving a positive notion of 
the march of history/* 

Is it true, as staled on p. 565 of Thir Menist for July, that Stuart Mill adopted 
Hume's *' erroneous conception of causality "' lo the extent implied in the following 
passage ? "This idea of * sequence' however was exactly Hume*s mistake, adopted 
by Mr. Mill, and through Mr Mill j>opularised among English thinkers. If the 
nature of cause and effect were really constituted by invariable sequence, then the 
night might be called the effect of the day because night is invariably consequent 
upon day/' 

The only authority at hand on the island from which 1 write is Clemenceau's 
translation of MilFs " Auguste Comte and Positivism," where, on p. 61. I read as 
follows, "The succession of day and night is just as much an invariable succession 
as the alternate exposition of the earth's two opposite sides to the sun. Yet day 
and night are not the cause of each other ; why ? Because their succession, although 
invariable, according lo our experience, is not so unconditionally : these phenomena 
succeed each other only upon the condition that the presence and the absence of 
the sun succeed each other ; and if this alternation were to cease, day and night 



would not follow each other. There are thus two kinds of uniformities of succes- 
sion, one without conditions, the other dependent on the former: laws of c^nsa* 
tion, and other successions which depend on the^e laws/' 

In a note Mill refers to his SysUm &/ DeducHve mui Imducthtt Lagk. 

Loais BsLROSfi. Jr. 


In his receni treatise on psychology Professor James discusses in an interesting 
and suggestive way the relation of ideation to attention, maintaining that " ideational 
preparation , . . is concerned in all attentive acts." Attention is "anticipatory 
imagination*' or *" preperceptiun * which prepajes the mind for what it is to expe- 
rience. Thus the schoolboy. listenioK for the clock to strike twelve, anticipates in, 
imagination and is prepared to hear p^irfectly the very first sound of the striking. 

It is undoubtedly true that in the form of attention we term expectant, where 
we are awaiting s^mt j^h^^n im/tressifff. there is a representing, antedating experience, 
which may be a preparatory preperception. But with a wrong imaging of what is 
to be experienced there is hindrance, as when in a dark quiet room we are led to 
expect sensation of light but actually receive sensation of sound. Very often, in- 
deed, our anticipations make us unprepired for experience. Further, the experi- 
ments adduced by Professor James from Wundt and Helmhoitz are in the single 
form of expectant attention, and we must remark that in these experiments the re- 
agent is also experimenter, and this introduces a new attention, consciousness of 
consciousness, and that of a peculiar kind» which complicates* an already complex 
consciousness. In general we may say that experimentally incited consciousness ia j 
artificial, at least as far as it feels itself as such, and for certain points like simple 
attention this tends to vitiate results. Self-experimentation or experiment on those 
conscious of it as such may mislead in certain cases, and must, so far as this ele- 
ment of consciousness of experiment is not allowed for. In physical science things 
always act naturally whether with observation or experiment, but in psychology 
observation, other things being equal, is more trustworthy than experiment. 

In all cases of expectant or experimentally expectant attention, the attention 
does not, however, lie in the expectancy or in the imaging as such, but it is merely 
the will eiort concerned in these operations, Yet as we may expect without effort,, 
and preconceive without volition, attention is necessarily involved in neither. A * 
perception or a preperception is an attention only as accomplished by will with 
effort, but only an unattenlion when purely involuntary Professor James's use of . 
attention as preperception brings us back to the common idea of attention, as any 
consciousness which cognises something. This is ao inbred in thought and language 
that it is most difficult to avoid using the term in this sense. Many psychologists 
like Mr James and Mr, Sully frequently mention attention as a will pheoomenoo 



but they do not treat it iinderr will, and they coostanLly return to the cognition mean- 
ing. Hr»ffding, however, treats attention under psychology* of wilL Attention as 
the exercise of wiU in building up aod maintatoing cognitive activity, is naturally 
treated under cognition ; but it is on the whole safer and better to discuss attention 
under will so as to keep it sharply distioguished from the presentation form which 
it vitalises. 1 have endeavored to hold the term strictly to this sense, yet it is not 
unlikely I may sometimes unwittingly countenance the common confusion, but trust 
the instances will be few. 

When we have, then, a case of expectant attention we must distinguish the at- 
tention in the imaging £rom the attention in the actual cognising. It is, indeed^ 
true for us almost invariably that cognitive strain without immediate realisation is 
incentive to ideating. In listening in the night in vain for a sound we hear in im- 
agination many sounds, and we form preparatory ideas of what we are to hear. 
Sense-adjustments call up a train of sensations in ideal form. But it is obvious that 
low intelligences which have no power of exp^^tancy or ideation do yet really at- 
tend. The very first cognitions and all early cognitions by their very newness and 
diMcnhy were attentions long before ideation was evolved. With low organisms, 
as cognitive power extends only to the present in time and space, immediacy of re- 
action is imperatively demanded, and every tension of cognitive apparatus is im- 
mediately directive of motor apparatus so that suitable motion is at once accom- 
plished. The cognition, though dim and evanescent factor, is yet powerfully ener- 
gised, and so a true attention. Always with lowest sentiencies. and often with 
higher, pain is suddenly realised without anticipation, followed quickly by attention 
as strong effort to cognise the nature and quality of the pain-giver and so to effec- 
tually get rid of pain-giver and pain 

Preliminary idea, then, cannot occur in early at tent ions and in late attentions 
it is by no means nece^ary It is said that we see only what we look for, but it 
must be answered that seeing commonly happens without any looking for. The 
kindergarten child. Professor James to the contrary notwithstanding, is not confined 
in his seeing to merely those things which he has been told to see and whose names 
have been given him. A child continually asks« What is that? and is quick to dis- 
cern the absolutely new and strange. He accomplishes a wide variety of attentions 
without ideas and giv^ himself almost entirely to immediate presentations. 

To be sure, every one sees only what be is prepared to see, only what is made 
possible for him by his mental constitution as determined by his own pre-experience 
and the experience of his ancestors, but this does not signify ideation. Every cog- 
nising is conditioned by the past, but this does not call for a reawakening and pro- 
jecting in ideal form at every instance of cognitive effort, before any real cognition 
is reached. 

In fact, many, if not the most of our attentions, are merely intensify in gs of 
some present cognition, of some cognitive psychosis which has simply come or hap- 
pened. Take the instance of attention to marginal retinal images, this certainly 



does not always imply pre-perception, the forming of an idea of what we are taj 
though in the cases mentioDed by Prnfessnr James it may. For example, I was 
writing the above seated wJih my profile to the window when I became suddenly 
aware, through the physiological agency of a marginal image, of a moving object to 
my right- This pt-rrceptiori of bare undefined object was spontaneous, a pure given ; 
I exercised no will in attaining h, and sn the state of cognitirin was not an attention. 
However, by attending, by intensifying the cognition by will effort^ I j^erceive that 
the indefinite object is a man walking on the sidewalk, who is of a certain height, 
clothed in a certain way, etc. I do not trace the least ideation in the whole pro- 
cess, the slight attending as act of will did not imply any anterior or posterior idea 
or representation. The reason for the will act was the intrinsic interest of move- 
ment, and this intrinsic interest arises in the fact that moving objects have had for 
all life a special pleasure-pain significance, the moving object is the most dangerous, 
and BO motion perceived has became ingrained in mind as a special stimulant of at- 
tention. This habit of attenttveness to things in motion survives and continues for 
cases where it is of no use and even of harm ; thus, in the present instance, it di- 
verts me from my work. It is obvious th;it attention often occurs in the same way 
for other senses without preliminary idea. 

On the whole we must conclude thiit attention is a much abused term, and it ts 
to be hoped that psychologists will for the future keep to the definite and best use 
of the term ; namely, to denote cognitive effort in all its degrees and modes. 

Hiram M. Stanlhv. 


In Vol. II, No 3, of /Vu MctNisf, a very kind criticism appeared from the pen 
of Mr. Francis C. Kusselt of the doctrine of a double-faced unity of mind and matter. 
It was said that tliis doctrine is very far from inducing that final satisfaction which 
we rightly expect of a competent theory, and the critic propounded as a possible 
explanation of mental phenomena the postulate of a conservation of spirit. He calls 
spirit the elementary basis of consciousness considered as a quality. Spurit would 
be the subjectivity of nature, the elements of feeling, or as Professor Morgan calls it 
metakinesis ; and consciousness would originate in the same way as electricity, i. e., 
by rending spirit asunder into positive and negative spirit so as to produce a tension. 
This would account for the apj>earance and disappearance of consciousness in that 
spiritual "dynamo" which is called the nervous system. 

This proposition seems to be highly acceptable because it stands upon the prin- 
ciple of a conservation of substance and attempts to represent the phenomenon of 
consciousness as due to a transformation. But does it for that reason remove the 
difficulties of the doctrine of a double-faced unity of nature, which, as Mr, Russell 
says. '* is open to the charge of being arbitrary and brings no access of insight " ? 
Is not perhaps the term double-faced unity (which is none of my invention* and 



which I have been careful to avoid) a misleadlDg and unsatisfactory term? Why 
should nature be double-faced ? Why are feeling and motion the only two attrib- 
utes of natural phenomena ? Is this not arbitrary? Could nature not be just as 
well a treble or quadruple- facod unity. Nature might possess, as Spinoza actually 
declares, infinite attributes of which these two only* viz, extensioii and thought, i. e. 
motion and feeling, happen to be known to us. 

It is this apparent arbitrariness which bars our insight and deprives us of the 
satisfaction that ought to attend the real solution of a problem. But let us avoid 
the term double-faced unity ; let us speak of the subjectivity and the objectivity of 
nature, and the clouds will disappear. 

The doctrine of a double-faced unity has been criticised as dualism, and the 
proposition that nature consists of two radically different attributes — exactly of two, 
not more and not less — must most decidedly appear as dualism, Out is it dualistic 
to say that every subject appears to its objects not as a subject but as an object 
among other objects ? Certainly not. 

The relativity of the terms subject and object affords us the key to a compre- 
hension of the situation. This world of ours is a world of relations. The phenomena 
of nature exhibit an unceasing activity; they consist of constant chang«fs, and every 
change, every motion, has a whence and a whither Every transformation is a 
•eries of events among which any prior one is called cause and any subsequent one 

If we regard feeling and motion as two attributes of nature, we are actually on 
the brink of dualism, and we shall understand how Spinoza, in order to escape from 
dualism and arrive at a monistic view, assumed without any plausible argument the 
existence of an infinite number of attributes. This assumption however is of no 
avail, for the problem would arise How is it that we know only two of all these 
infinite attributes ? Why do we not know any other ■* and why are we unable to 
form even a dim notion of any other ? If they exist why do they exhibit no effects 
upon us ? Perhaps because we ourselves and this world of ours consist only of 
two ! And if they exhibit no effects upon us and upon our world, can they be said 
to exist at all ? Might we not, in that case, consider them as non-existrnt and count 
the two known attributes alone as actual realities ? Thus the dualism would remain ; 
and Spinoza's monism is only apparent. 

The same objection cannot be made if we remain conscious of the fact that 
feelings are as much abstracts as motions. Subjectivity and objectivity are correl- 
ative terms There is as little a duality in the idea, that subjects presuppose ob- 
jects as that effects presuppose causes. There are not causes in the world which 
are nothing but causes, nor are there effects which are nothing but effects. Take for 
instance an historical event. W^as Ca?sar*s death a cause cit an effect ? Plainly, 
this depends upon the vievrwe take, As the sequence of the wounds which Csesar 
received from his assassins it was an effect ; as the beginning of the civil war con- 
sequent thereupon it was a cause. If I look at you, you are the object and I am 



the subject. If you look at me, it is the reverse. Thus the relation of a certain 
thing to its surroonditigs makes of it a subject^ while the surroundings are its ob- 

Subject and object being correlatives, we can very well understand why there 
are no *" subjects in themselves" ; every subject is at the same lime an object in 
the objective world. We can further understand, why every subjectivity except 
our own withdraws itself from direct observation. We can observe the movements 
of organisms like ourselves and judge by way of analogy that they feel pain or enjoy 
pleasure. We see their motions which betray certain feelings, but we can never 
see the feelings themselves ; and even supposing that we could enter into the brain 
of a man and that the whole mechanism of brain-action were laid open to our in- 
spection in its minutest details, we should see motions, combinations and separa- 
tions, integrations and disintegrations, we should see the oxydation of the gray sub- 
stance, which would appear as a great turmoil and excitement, but we should see 
(as Leibnitz says) no thoughts, no perceptions, no feelings. That it cannot be 
otherwise is obvious when we consider that our objects will always present to us the 
character of objectivity. 

But suppose we were an atomi of oxygen and entered into the process of brain- 
action as an active factor, our subjectivity would soon l>ecome absorbed and welded 
into a higher unity with the subjectivity of the other atoms. We should then, as a 
part of that brain's consciousness, feel these feelings, perceptions, and thoughts; we 
should, then, be the subject which we could not see and which we were searching 
for in vain in the world of objectivity. 

This conception of the correlation of subjectivity and objectivity docs not only 
conv^incingly explain the unity of feeling and motion, it does not only establish a 
satisfactory monism, it throws light also on some other of the questions that puzzle 
us. How is it that we do not feel our brain-motions to be brain- motions ? We feel 
our feelings only; and when feeling our feelings we do not so much feel thui we feel 
as what we feeL In other words, we feel the contents of our feelings ; we feel their 
import, their meaning ; we are aware of their significance ; our consciousness is 
conscious of the object, the presence of which is indicated by this special feeling. 
Our attention is concentrated upon the messages conveyed by and contained in th« 
different feelings. 

These messages of certain feelings are the interpretations given either to certain 
sense-impressions or they are the thought-symbols representing some abstracts, rep- 
resenting certain features of sense-impressions. 

How little we feel our brain-motions when we think, can be learned from the 
fact that some nations place the seat of thinking in the heart, others in the stomach 
or even the bowels, while even so great a naturalist as Aristotle regarded the brain 
as cold and insensible ; he made the observation that man is in possession of the 
relatively largest brain, but he understood its function so little that he thought it 
served to cool the warmth rising from the heart. 



It is strange that every subjective feeling so long as it remains within itself can 
neither be localised nor determined. We know nothing whatever of the brain- 
motion that thinks a certain idea. We can fairly assume that every idea is in its 
objective existence a peculiar kind of brain motion taking place in a particular part 
of the brain, but we are not conscious of the brain- motion as a spcKiial and localised 
motion. We are quite unable to tell the difference that we must suppose to exist 
between the forms of the brain-structures or combinations uf brain-structures and 
their motions when we think say for instances of virtue and of vice* We are con- 
scious only of the idea and not of their objective correlates. 

Whatever we know of our body, we know* only through sensation; i.e., by 
the same means by which we know of other things. Our body is to us, and is rep- 
resented with the assistance of the senses, as an object in the objective world. As 
such it is localised and all its relations and activities are determined. Whatever 
subjective feeling we have concerning any state of ourselves, remains indistinct 
until with the help of the senses it is made an object to our observation. Who has 
not as yet made the experience that he was unable to localise a toothache. The 
pain itself gives no information either as to its nature and cause or as to the seat of 
the suffering. The pain itself is purely subjective. Ail the objective facts have to 
be localised with the assistance of the senses. The suspected regions must be made 
the object of experiments and if any irritation of a certain spot increases the ache, 
it will be assumed to be the seat of the pain. And even then how often is a patient 
mistaken not only almost always as to the nature but often also as to the seal 
of the pain. 

These facts appear strange, but they cease to be strange, when we consider 
that the nature of subjectivity is feeling. Subjectivity can as little become directly 
conscious of its owti objectivity as an eye can look at itself. However, an eye can 
look at its image in the mirror. So the complex of subjective existence, which is 
through the interaction of an organism united in what we call a soul, can and does 
Him the channels of its own senses back upon itself and thus forms an opinion 
concerning its own objectivity. Man's knowledge of his own objective existence is 
not due to any internal and direct perception of self* but solely to the same expe- 
rience through which he receives information concerning the rest of the world. 

p. c. 

T0 ike Edittir of The Momst: 

I hope it is not a breach of etiquette to ask you to forward to your reviewer the 
following remarks in reply to his criticism of my work ( The Fottmiatiims of Geometry, 
reviewed in Vol. II, No. i. of The Monist\ If he is good enough to review my 
second book also. I think they will clear up some misunderstandings. 

Your reviewer commences with some general remarks, against which I have 



nothing to say. He then proceeds to consider my ' ' requirements for a logical defi- 
nition." Here he seems to find a difficulty — which may be due to my not having 
expressed myself clearly. If so I hope he will read what I say on the same subject 
in my Essity 0h /^/nsonin^^ which I cannot believe he will find "indefinite" or 
not well ** issuable." But indeed I cannot see where his difficulty comes in with my 
old statement of the case. I state perfectly clearly that requirements (3) and (4) are 
not higicn/iy necessary for a definition, but are only required if that definition is in- 
tended to give a pariimlfir m^nniffj^ to the word. He tries to reduce my argument 
rff/ ^r/'/«rt/ww by giving a definition of "troft." But so far from being absurd his 
definition is perfectly good. According to it " troft " would include in its denotation 
all our percepts and concepts Whpn however he goes on to siy " . . . These sig* 
nificant names must be so used that the intellECtual sensibility shall be excited to 
perceive that which is intended to be defined, " I differ from him entirely. This is only 
required for a ii^scripfioii, not for a definition (see Essay on Rtasoniug^ p, 53). 

Your reviewer's only solid objection to my "requirements" seeras to be that 
the fourth includes all the rest, This is only true if the term proposed for definition 
has an import which has already been determined ; but even in such a case it is 
better to consider the requirements separately, as I have given them For the force 
of objections under the different headings varies enormously. An objection under 
beading (i). if established, vvould be fatal to any definition whatever. One under 
heading (2)1 so far from being fatal would only be a suggestion for the improvement 
of the definition. Objections under either of the headings (3) and {4) would only be 
to the effect that the term as defined meant something different from what it was 
desired that it should mean. It is however convenient to consider (3) and (4) sep- 
arately as it would generally t)e possible to decide (3) at once, whereas if a doubt 
were raised under beading (4) it might lead to a prolonged discussion before it could 
belaid. I do not however pretend that the "requirements" are laid down in my 
Foundations of Gronutry in the best possible form. Indeed 1 have altered the form 
in my second essay. There is moreover one requirement for a logical definition 
which is not included in my beading (1) in the Foundations of Gifomttry^ though it 
is includt^i in (4). This defect is remedied in the Essny on R^asoniti^ (p. 55I. It is 
curious that your reviewer should have missed this point, as it is the very one on 
w^hich he attacks my definition of ' direction." It is that the assertions in a defini- 
tion must not be independent of the meaning of the terra defined. If they were, the 
assertion would be equally true (or false) whatever meaning the term might have. 
The import of the term would therefore be unlimited. In the case of explicit defini- 
tions a similar error is called tiriuitis in de/iniendo. 

When your reviewer goes on to attack my definition of "direction'* why docs 
he change his front all at once, and disregard all the considerations he has just been 
discussing ? Why does he not apply my, or his own, requirements for a definition ' 
to the case in point ? The criticism be actually does put forward will not bear a 
moment's investigation. If my definition is "circular." the assertion must be equally 



true whatever meaning is ascribed to the term. Well, then, let us try the effect of 
giving to it the meaning we ordinarily ascribe to '* cheese." Is it equally true that 
"a cheese may be conceived to be indicated by naming two points, as the cheese 
from one to the other" ? Clearly not. But not only does this one assertion out of 
my definition exclude the import of " cheese " from the meaning of "direction/* but, 
more particularly, ft distinguishes between the " three distinct but closely associated 
notions " which your reviewer quite rightly says '* becxjme confused in thought and 
expression unless the most solicitous care is taken to distinguish them " This is ex- 
actly the care which I /unw taken, by framing my definition, 

I need not say much about the rest of the criticism. Your reviewer's remarks 
on my definition of "angle" are simply due to the fact that he has not read the 
definition carefully, and probably has not read the note on the top of page 36 at alL 
It may make tt clearer to him if I point out that if "we imagine a northeast-south- 
west line cutting an east-west line," we imagine/*'//^' different directions and there- 
fore 4 . 3/r .2 = 6 angles. Two of these are the straight angles between the opposite 
directions of each of the two lines. The other four are what Euclid calls '*the 
atigles between the lines." As an angle, according to my definition, has no local 
habitation in space, it is, prima fittit.^ meaningless to talk nf the Tight hand upper 
angle/* But if this is only an abbreviation for "the angle between the directions 
upwards and to the right." then " the right hand upper angle" means the same as it 
would in Euclid. 

With the remarks about the nature of the challenge I have thrown down I 
heartily agree. May I however suggest that f have a right to expect that criticism 
should be, not only "competent and candid." but careful ? It is a difficult subject, 
and /at least am not always able to express myself in such a way that my meaning 
cannot be misunderstood by any one. I think if your reviewer looks at what I have 
said again, with the aid of what I say further in my Essay on /^^numia^, he will see 
that his criticisms have really originate^d in misunderstandings, and perha^-Mi he will 
alter his judgment that I have "come short of the high result to which I aspired,"* 

But my chief object in writing to you to-day is to bring specially to your notice 
my ideas on the nature of so-c;dled "necessary truths.'* I am not quite clear how 
far you will find my vit?ws harmonise with your own. To a great extent I am inclined 
to think they are simply a further analysis of the views you express in T/ttr Mifuisi 

* Tb« reviewer of Mr. Dixon*!) book ha$ read these remarks on liis criticiain {Tkt Momitt^ 
Vol. n. No. t, p. t26» and has $;iven ibem wbai seem& to liim ItiU constderation. He confesses that 
he mUtinderstood what Mr. Dixon meanl bf *' a direction.*' (See the article '* Loi^ic as Reiation- 
I>ore " to be published in a subsequent number I In regard to the requirements for a U:»^ical defiDi- 
tioti he must still abide by his former oplaion. Tlie need of a definition arises either from the In- 
aecaracy in the application of a term or from a supposed tack of know1ed|;e as to iis si^nificatioti. 
Hence to use the term itself tn its own definition is to import into the definition the same vague- 
ness or i|i;noraiice which it is the very office of a defiaition to correct. When Mr. Dixon says that 
il is requisite for a logical de&nition that the detininf; assertions '* muM not be inde^ndrnt of the 
meaning of the term dehned," what i* thai but to say that the same must be dt^ndtmi upon that 
meaninf; ? which, uoless the reviewer ajEaia tuisunderMaads the authoti is to «ay thiit wc must 
understand the meaning; of the term before wc can understand the dchnition. pc\^ 



and in yoMz FHrttiamtHiai Pt&hltms, I will briefly sketch my own ideas and you 
can then judge whether ihey are yours also or not 

In my Essay on A*^ti.<of§ing I classify assertions as Truisms (assertions whose 
truth depends solely on the definitions of their terms) and Real Assertions, 
which convey some real subjt^tive or objective information. I show that the valid- 
ity of all purely formal knowledge depends on the fact that it is deduced from defi- 
nitions alone, which are laid down arHtrnriiy and that the supposed peculiar cer- 
tainty of the theorems of pure mathematics is merely due to the fact that they are 
all truisms. Thus, I think it a misnomer to call such theorems '*nc5cessary " truths. 
It would be nearer the mark to call them "arbitrary * truths. 

There is no necessity whatever about the theorem " twice two is four," '*Two' 
is defined as 1 H- i ; " twice/' as the operation of adding a thing to itself. It follows 
from this that " twice two" Is 1 + i + i + i ; and this, by Jt'^nition, is *' four." If 
"four" were defined as i-j-i-j-i, (and there is no "necessary" reason why it 
should not be,) then " twice two " would i»W be " four. " The assertion '* twice two 
is four " conveys do real informalion whatever — at best it could only tell us what 
one of its terms meant if they had noi all been previously defined, 

I cannot insist too strongly on the importance of a proper understanding and 
use of logical definition. If you desire to know whether a given assertion is true or 
false, a priori or */ fnsUriifti^ the first step in the investigation must be to find out 
how its terms were defined. If it turns out that the truth (or falsehood) of the as* 
sertinn c*in be formally deduced from these definitions, then the assertion is a truism 
(or contradiction in terms): in either case it can give no real information, and even 
if true cannot be a *' necessary " truth. Only if the definitions of the terms are both 
independent and consistent is it open lo discussion how we might come to a knowl- 
edge of the fact it expresses, 

I may briefly indicate here how I think the problem ought to be attacked. 
'•Objective facts" can only be established by induction. I do not mean by that 
term necessarily the process described by Mill, but some similar process, based ul- 
timately on inJiidia per imtmertjtiont^m simpii<cm. Now no such process can ever 
lead to a necessary truth. The most fundamental and certain induction which can 
be made, that which induces us to believe in the objectivity of our environment, 
does not lead to a * 'necessary truth " ; and much less can any other induction based 
upon this one do so. *' Objective facts" then may be established with greater or 
less probability, but can never be necessarily true. But all inductions are based on 
our perceptions, that is ultimately on our subjective sensations. And a man can. 
nay, must be, absolutely certain of the reality of his own sensations though he can- 
not be certain of the interpretations he puts upon them. If I have a toothache I 
cannot be absolutely certain that I have a tooth, but, at least while the pain lasts, 
I am uhifhtteiy certain that I have an ache. And so of any subjeciive sensation 

I can similarly be absolutely certain that I entertain a given concept, while that 
concept is before my mind ; though of course it is possible that if I assert the pos* 


session of that concept I may do so in language which may be misunderstood by the 
person I am addressing. If then a man has certain concepts which he can call up 
at will, the reality of those concepts, qua concepts, is to him a iwct'ssary truth. He 
may lay down such necessary truths as axioms, and by their aid he may give real 
subjective import to a symbolic, argument, and so obtain new and complicated as- 
sertions which are also to him necessary truths. This is what I do in my subjective 
theory of geometry. That theory might be regarded as purely symbolic — the axioms 
might have been left out. and all its conclusions looked upon as mere truisms. The 
conclusions of geometry of four or more independent directions can perhaps only be 
regarded as truisms. But by the aid of the axioms, geometry of two and three in- 
dependent directions can be given real subjective import, and its conclusions there- 
fore regarded as necessary truths, as long as they are only taken subjectively. They 
may further be applied objectively by the aid of objective facts established by in- 
duction, but in this case their validity is no greater than that of the primary facts, 
the counterparts of the subjective axioms, which are employed to give the theory 
•objective import. 

I confess I have not studied Kant sufficiently to say that his views differ ma- 
terially from mine, though I always thought they did until I read your interpreta- 
tions of them. Perhaps I misunderstood the sense in which Kant used the term 
a priori. The term has been used in so many different senses that I prefer myself 
to drop it altogether. If it merely refers to priority in time there can be no prac- 
tical doubt that, whether in the case of the human race or of an individual thinker, 
a large amount of sense-experience must have preceded even so simple an // priori 
judgment as " twice two is four." If the term merely refers to priority in logical va- 
lidity it seems to me better to say that "such and such assertions are not dependent 
upon experience." But Kant says of the assertion " 7-1-5= 12 " that it is not only 
^'-ti priori"" but "synthetic " By the latter term he means that its truth was not 
deduced from definitions alone, and that the assertion therefore conveys real infor- 
mation. In this I believe he was wrong, and though he afterwards declares that 
"all knowledge a priori is empty .ind cannot give information about things," unless 
the true nature of // priori knowledge is made more clear, people will inevitably con- 
tinue to believe the contrary — and to believe moreover that Kant taught so. 

Any language which seems to imply that there is some dread necessity about 
mathematical truths — that they could not be otherwise if they would — is very mis- 
leading. Of course it is necessarily true that // you have seven objects and add 
five more to them you will have in all twelve objects. But the whole objective 
difficulty is begged by the supposition. " Much virtue in if ! '* 

As I understand it the essence of the "laws" of pure mathematics is that they 
are verbal, that is they are only abbreviated expressions of the results of certain 
verbal processes. If the processes are repeated and the results similarly expressed, 
the results must always be the same. Our reason cannot " inform us about the form 
of existence" unless it is first given, as the duta or facts which correspond to the defi- 



ni lions of oar symWic nrgti meats. It is only because our reasoning faculties are 
limited that symholic .iruumeDts are iiece*;sary at all — that it is not evident to lis at 
once that the conclusions of the most intricate mathemnticil calculations are givea 
to us along with the ti*ifa. Given the diita, then In all possible worlds the conclu- 
sions must indeed follow, but only because they really are already in the data which 
were given. 

It may be that you will not only agree with all I h.ive said, but have already 
said much of it yourself. Bui there are some passages in your Fumiamentnt Ptoh- 
Urns which seem to imply otherwise, I think the great objection I have lo urge 
against Kaut, and also perhaps against you. is that you do not distinguish as clearly 
as I could wish between symliolic argument and real, though subjectivt^ knowledge. 
And the only way to distinguish between them is by inquiring into the definitions of 
the terms 

For example, on p. 165 of Fundttmetttni Prohlettn you say that to four-dimeu- 
sional btMUgs Kepler's third law ** would most probably appear as 'the cubes of 
their times of revolution being proportional to their mean distances to the fourth 
power.' " 

Now what sort of as^iertion do you take Kepler's law to be ? Originally it was 
a purt*ly empirical law obtained by pure induction. If the four-dimensional people 
obtained their law the same way why should the result appear diflerent to them ? 
Or do you conceive ibe law lo be deduced from Neuion s theory of gravitation ? But 
even so the law of the inverse square was obtained empirically. If yuu think that 
law can be explained (as the analogous law for the distribution of light can) by the 
supposition that the integral of the force over all points at a given distance from the 
origin is constant, still this supposition is purely gratuitous unless established by in- 
duction from experience. If you grant any one of these suppositions you can by 
symt>oUc argument obtain the law corresponding to Kepler's fur a four-dimensional 
space. But 1 may mention that in no case does the result you anticipate come out. 
On the first two suppositions the law would be undtered. On thp last supposition 
the law of gravity would be changed to the inverse cube ; but after that the solution 
of the problem has nothing to do with four dimensions — it is a two-dimensional 
problem only. The result is that in general planets could not move in closed orbits 
at all- They might conceivably revolve in circles, but such a condition would be 
unstable, and if it obtained their periodic times would vary as the squares of their 

Again you siy (p. 74) " the doctrine of the ' conservation of matter and energy.' 
although it has been discovered with the assistance of experience, can be proved in 
its full scope by pure reason alone. ' I should very much like to see your proof 
(which I cannot find in FnndiWutUal Prohiems), How do you define the terms of the 
doctrine ? Do you deduce the proof from these definitions — that is do you make it 
a truism ? Or do you base it upon subjective axioms as I do my geometry ? Or if 
3'ou base it on objective facts, how do you prove those facts by pure reason alone ? 


And if it is purely a subjective proof, how can you say the doctrine is proved * * in its 
full scope" ? Surely objective applications come within its scope? 

It would not be fair in me to ask you to publish my reply to your reviewer's 
criticisms, though if that reply is justified the criticism must have done the prospects 
of my book some injur\*. seeing from what a quarter it comes. But I hope you will see 
your way to publishing the latter part of this letter in The Monist, together with 
your reply to it, if you think it worthy of such a distinction. 

I have just come across, in this month's Xineteenth Century, another remarkable 
instance of reasoning which seems to be rendered entirely nugatory by the want of 
proper definitions. It is asserted that conceptual thought is impossible without 
language. At first sight this would certainly appear to be a real assertion. It fol- 
lows from it that since dogs have no language they have no "conceptual thought." 
But it may be plainly shown that dogs do entertain "general notions." which in or- 
dinary English would be included under the head of "conceptual thought." The 
apparent contradiction is however explained when it appears that the author distin- 
guishes general notions as "concepts" or "recepts." according as they <; re* or </rt- 
not named. This being his defmition of "conceptual thought " as oppwsed to other 
thought, it appears that the assertion is only a truism after all, and conveys no real 
information whatever. To discuss it further is then mere waste of time. The au- 
thor of the assertion doubtless tvisheJ it to convey some information, but he did not 
attend to his definitiQns and so failed to attain his object. 

Edw.\rd T. Dixon. 



It is true, as Mr. Dixon says, that "Any language which seems to imply that 
there is some dread necessity about mathematical truths is very misleading." But 
to .say. as Mr. Di.xon does in another passage, that tho truisms of mathematics are 
arbitrary truths, is more misleading still. The theorems of the formal sciences are 
not "assertions whose truth depends solely on the definition of their terms." They 
are " real assertions which convey some real subjective or objective information." 

Mr. Dixon objects to Kant's assertion that 74-5=12 is not only a f^ricri but 
also synthetic. He declares, in contradistinction to Kant, that it is deduced from 
definitions alone ; that therefore it is empty, and cannot give any information about 
things. This latter proposition, which is a phrase of Kant's, appears in this context 
as an inconsistency of Kant's. And it would be an inconsistency, if it had to be un- 
derstood in the sense in which Mr Dixon quotes it. We con.strue Kant's phrase that 
" the a priori is empty, and cannot give information about things," in a different 
way. We think that Kant intends to say that the n priori imparts real information 
concerning relations and forms ; but that it does not impart real information con- 


Social Statics. Abridged and Revised; together with The Man ver&ls The 
State, ^y Ihiih^rt SpctUir. New York : D. Appleton A: Co., 1S92 

Justice. Bt*ing Part IV of the Principles of Ethics, By Ihrhert Spemer. New 
York: D. Appleton ^ Co.. iSgi. 

Among Mr, Spencer's inost important books are those entitled Jttsticf and 
S(*(iul Sfttfics^ The latter, which first appeared in 1850. has just been republished 
in about one-half of the original size, some parts having been transferred to the book 
on Justice, and others omitted altogether. " One difference," as he says, " is that 
what there was in my first book of supernatural istic interpretation has disappeared* 
and the interpretation has become exclusively naturalistic — that is, evolutionary/ 
Another change is that a demonstration of the injustice of socialism is substituted 
for his former arguments, plainly repudiated in Jnstk^, against private ownership 
of land, Equally important is the omission of the chapter asserting ''The Right to 
Ignore the State." 

The demand for Woman Suffrage has also been withdrawn from the new ^\- 
\\ork of SQfial Statics^ though it retains the original protest against "the reign of 
man over woman," and asserts an " equality of rights in the married state " Here 
again, Spencer's final p<^sition must be sought in his Justice where it is urged 
that women cannot justly have equal powers with men unless they have equal re- 
spon si bill ties. They cannot serve their country as men do ; and if they take an 
equal share in the government, "their position is not one of equahty but one of 
supremacy." Even in time of peace, they are. he thinks, too impulsive to vote 
judiciously, too sympathetic to oppose "fostering the worse at the expense of the 
better," and loo fond of " a worship of power under all its forms " to protect indi- 
vidoal liberty against the encroachment of authority This objection seems par- 
ticularly strong, because there is still great danger of the growth of state despotism 
at the expense of personal freedom, even in republics. Many recent instances are 
given by Spencer in "The Man versus the State," now reprinted in the same volume 
with Stfciiti Stiiriix ; and it is urged in Justice, that even in the United States 
" universal suffrage does not prevent an oni>rmrus majority of consLuners from being 


heavily taxed by a protective tariff for the benefit of a small minority of manufac- 
turers and artisans." 

Our voters are much too ready to follow hasty impulses and unscrupulous 
leaders ; and both faults are most common among the most ignorant. How strongly 
education encourages independence was acknowledged by those slave-holders who 
said, "Our negroes shall not learn to read, for that makes them run away." Public 
schools have found their worst enemies among Popes and Czars, and their best 
friends in the statesmen most honored by republics. There is no other institution 
for whose advantages Americans are practically unanimous. The necessity of popu- 
lar education at the public cost is acknowledged by Huxley, Mill, and other advanced 
thinkers so generally, that Spencer's exceptionally hostile opinion ought not to be 
taken as a self-evident truth. 

Mr. Sp)encer's examination of this subject does not appear to have been so 
thorough as the occasion demands. In denying that education prevents crime, he 
relies mainly on Joseph Fletcher, who, as stated in both editions of Siuia/ S/tjf- 
its, " has entered more elaborately into this question than perhaps any other writer 
of the day," and who admits that there is a '* superficial evidence against instruc- 
tion." Spencer takes no notice of Fletcher's having succeeded completely in break- 
ing down this superficial evidence. In elaborate papers, published in the tenth, 
eleventh, and twelfth volumes of Wi^ Joitrnal of the London Slatistical Society-, 
and illustrated by many tables and maps. Fletcher shows that the proportion to the 
population, in various parts of England, of people unable to sign their names, corre- 
sponded everywhere to the proportion of illegitimate births as well as of commit- 
ments for crime. Separating these latter into classes according to degree of guilt, 
he proves that the worst crimes are most common where there is the most ignorance. 
Thus he is enabled to say. "The conclusion is therefore irresistible that education 
is essential to the security of modern society." That this testimony of Spencer's 
principal witness is really the truth can be further proved by the statistics in the 
Encyclop,Tdia Britanniia, showing that between 184 1 and 1876. while the per- 
centage of illiterates to population in England and Wales was reduced one-half, 
that of criminals was reduced to one-third of what it was originally. (Vol. VIII, 
pp. 221 and 249-251.) 

Spencer also refers to the fact that schools have sometimes been carried on in 
the interest of despotism ; but most kinds of food are easily adulterated : and educa- 
tion is valuable, notwithstanding, as food for liberty. This last consideration dis- 
f>oses completely of his comparison of state-churches with state-schools ; and the 
fact, mentioned in the revi.sed but not in the original edition of Soiini Statics, that 
opinions differ about the best methods of education, is really an additional instance 
of the encouragement given by our system of public schools to independence of 

Spencer's chief objection to this system is that it does not fit his theory that 
' the liberty of each, limited by the like liberties of all, is the rule in conformity 



with which society must be organised/' (p, 45). Such a "'law of right social rela- 
tionships/' (p. 55) would, he admits, require us to repeal our laws against indecency, 
abolish our Boards of Health, and close our poorhouses, postoffices, banks, and 
lighthouses, except in so far as these institutions, like our streets and roads, might 
be cared for by benevolent individuals. He does not tell us how a government, 
thus limited to managing the police, army, and navy, could keep up a fire-depart- 
ment, nor how new streets, roads, railways, or canals could be opened, in case the 
owners of land put their prices (00 high for the projectors; but the most unfortu- 
nate application of his theory would be to close our public schools. 

There is no danger of this, however . and the principal evil likely to resi^U 
from his pushing his theory so far, is thai he prevents people from seeing its real 
value, as indicating the direction in which our race has advanced and must make 
all further progress. We shall keep on diminishing the power of the state over the 
man, as well as that of the man over the child, but neither authority will ever be 
abolished entirely. We shall dispense, sooner or later, with some of the public in- 
stitutions which Spencer condemns ; but our common schools will, I think, last as 
long as government itself The abolitionists helped the slave to freedom by point- 
ing out the North Star : but they did not advise him to quit solid earth. This mis- 
take, although we grant that Spencer shows us our North Star, is sometimes made 
in Sofia/ S/afits. 

Timely help, too, is given by him. in a thoroughly practical way, to those re- 
formers who are passing out from under the cloud with a silver lining into a Cleve- 
land summer and a fair prospect of a Harrison fall Among the words best worth 
putting into actions at once, are these : *' The right of exchange is as sacred as any 
other right, and exists as much between members of different nations as between 
members of the same nation Morality knows nothing of geographical bounda- 
ries/' . ''Hence, in putting a veto upon the commercial intercourse of two na- 
tions, or in putting obstacles in the way of that intercourse, a government trenches 
upon men's liberties of action, and by so doing directly reverses its function. To 
secure for each man the fullest freedom to exercise his faculties, compatible with 
the like freedom of all others, we find to be ihe state's duty. Now trade prohibi- 
tions and trade restrictions not only do not secure this freedom, but they take it 
away. So that in enforcing them the state is transformed from a maintainer of 
rights into a violator of rights." . . . "Whether it kills, or robs, or enslave, or 
shackles by trade regulations, its guilt isalike in kind, and differs only in degree/* 
{S(ta\i/ Sfti/it's, ed. of 1850, pp. 326, 327 ; ed. of 1892, p. 137). f. m. h. 

An Essay on Reasoning. By Eihoard 7\ Dixon. Cambridge lEng.) : Deighton, 
Bell. & Co. 1 891. Pp. 88, 
Some years ago the author of this essay made public certain views of his. on 
"Geometry of Four Dimensions." He was surprised to find that though his argu- 
ments were received with incredulity they were not refuted. This result appeared 


to him to be due to the fact that he was not understood, that his views on geometry 
of even two and three dimensions being different from those commonly entertained, 
he had failed of being understood, because he had not begun his explanation at the 
beginning. ^ 

He therefore set to work to analyse those views and ultimately published a book 
on the subject. This book. The Foundations of Geometry, was reviewed by us in 
The Monist of October, 1891. But now again the author regards himself as not 
understood. He rested the positions and arguments of his book upon certain views 
of logic and especially of definition, which depart from the orthodox views, and he 
misjudged the fullness of explanation that would therefore become needful. Hence 
this little essay. 

The proper approach to the views of the author is through his doctrine of defi- 
nition. Usually definition is regarded as finding its main motrve and utility in the 
convenience of social converse. The meaning of any term is regarded as resting 
not in the choice of him who utters it, but in the suppositions of those who are ad- 
dressed. It is true that a license is accorded to any one upon a sufficient occasion 
to give a sp)ecial intent to some word, but only upon condition that that intent shall 
be made sufficiently express, in other words well understood by those addressed. 
Hence definition is usually taken to mean the recital or the precision of the meaning 
of a term by means of language naturally apt for that end. There is no good sense 
in pretending to efifect either one of these ends by language that lacks natural ability 
on that behalf. 

Now Mr. Dixon holds, if we understand him, that conventional usage is of very 
subordinate consequence in this matter, that it pertains to the prerogative of an au- 
thor to throw upon those whom he addresses the task of gathering his meaning-; as 
best they can ; that even when he professes to explain his meanings he need not 
seek and employ any plain, direct speech, but may supply his instruction indirectly : 
may ask his audience to solve a problem, or to rightly guess what certain hints 
mean ; may require them to extract the meaning in question out of a set of assertions 
that involve the same in a collateral way only. This he calls " implicit definition." 
It is analogous, he tells us, to an unsolved equation or set of equations in algebra. So 
far as we are aware no one can claim priority of the author in respect to this expe- 
dient. He seems to regard it as of great importance, and proposes by its aid to over- 
come the difficulties that environ the fundamentals of geometry. 

We think that the author is led to put undue confidence in his implicit defini- 
tion, by his peculiar views upon propositions. He holds that all propositions can, 
without loss of gain in the meanings as originally stated, be reduced to statements of 
strict identity. This done, propositions can, as he thinks, be operated upon after the 
fashion usual with equations. But we submit that between a logical proposition 
and an algebraic equation there is a difference that is in general irreducible. For 
example take this proposition, Every parent loves children. To alter this to, Every 
parent is identical with some [or every] person that loves children, as is, we think, 



the prescription of Mr. DiicoD, will not serve ; for by reading our identity in the re- 
verse order we have : Some [or every] persnn thnt loves children is identical with 
every parent. 

Mr. Dixon's views in resf>ect to terms and to the dortriiie/.>f denotation and 
connotation depart as widely from the suppi>sittous usually held, as do his views re- 
garding propositions and definition. To follow out the consequences of his proposed 
innovations in any adequate fulness is forbidden to us by lack of space. We feel 
sure that further reflection will lead him to much modification of his doctrines /ht/ 

Outlines of a F^htlosophv of Religion. By Hermann Lotze, Edited by E. C. 
Com/uiiti', M.A. London : Swan^ Sonnenschein, & Co. New York: Mac* 
millan & Co, 1892. Pp, 176. 

This book is an excellent translation of one of the most important works of a 
prominent philosopher, who made an nn usually strong impression upon the minds 
of his contemporaries. Almost every line of this clean, accurate, and charming 
translation betrays the translator's devotion to the subject^ for he has taken the ut- 
most care to bring out the ideas of the author in the same brilliant style for which 
Professor Lotze is justly famous. 

The translator says in the preface : ' I have compteled and venture to publish 
"the following translation of Hermann Lotxe's Letfures npon the Phiinsophy af 
** kt^iigion in the s:ime hope in which it was undertaken .by my late wife, that it 
" may be of use to some who cannot read the German original, and yet desire a con* 
"cise statement of the form in which one of the clearest-minded of our later thinkers 
*'put to himself those great questions — as to the origin and destiny of the spirit of 
" man. as to life in general, and the meaning of the material universe — which occupy 
"us all at some time or another, many of us as soon as we have won food and shel- 
*• ter for our bodies " 

We do not share Mr. Conybeare's and bis deceased wife's enthusiasm for the 
author. Although we are not blind to the great deserts of Professor Lotze, his 
amiable personality, the depth of his religious and emotional nature, the breadth of 
his scholarly erudition, and the brilliancy of his ingenious, not to say poetical, pre- 
sentation of philosophical subjects, we cannot conceive that his work is come to 
abide. On the contrary, we consider his philosophy as antiquated in many re- 
spects. He considers problems that originate from a mere confusion of ideas, as 
being iusolvable in their nature, and attempts the solution of other problems with 
inadequate methods, His thoughts still remind us of the ontological spirit of past 
philosophies, and his principles are not in agreement with positivism and the 
methods of scientific research. 

As an instance, we quote the following passage : " We must ever set aside any 
"attempt to describe in positive terms, or to construct in thought, the process by 
" which this absolute being came to be not only one. and that uncoodiliooally, but 
''at the same time a many of things which condition one another reciprocally." 


Lotze still believes in an " absolute unity " as something prior to the world of 
reality, and he declares that "We cannot Know or. Explain how this Absolute 
Unity is also Many " (Sec. XXI) ; and even if an unconscious being could be a 
Many-in-One, yet it could not, according to Lotze, generate consciousness (Sec. 
XXV). We do not believe that this problem is insolvable, and do not, as does Lotze, 
feel constrained to fall back on idealism. In fact, our position is so different from 
Lotze's that in spite of the full recognition of his genius, we feel as much severed 
from him as if he belonged to ages long gone by. 

Mr. Conybeare's translation is most certainly an invaluable work and is indis- 
pensable for any English student of Lotze's philosophy. Kf>c. 

On the Perception of Small Differences, With Special Reference to the 
Extent. Force, and Time of Movement. By Ceori^e Stuart Fullerlon and 
James McKeen Cattell. Philadelphia : University of Pennsylvania Press. 
1892. Pp. 159. 

This volume of the Philosophical Series of Publications of the University of 
Pennsylvania gives an account of a large number of experiments made for the pur- 
pose of testing the perception of small differences of movement, of weight, and of 
light. The most noticeable conclusion arrived at by the authors, is that they cannot 
accept any of the received explanations of Weber's law. They found from their 
experiments, by the method of estimated amount of difference, that •*we tend to 
estimate the intensity of sensation as directly proportional to the intensity of the 
stimulus ; consequently, in so far as any deduction concerning quantitative relations 
in sensation can be made from such estimation, the sensation increases as the stim- 
ulus and not as its logarithm," thus invalidating Fechner's law. The authors be- 
lieve also that Weber's law does not hold for the perception of movement, as they 
find that the error of observation usually increases "as the stimulus is taken greater 
but more slowly," and that it is proportional to the square root of the stimulus. 
Accordingly, they substitute for Weber's law the following : "The error of obser- 
vation tends to increase as the square root of the magnitude, the increase being sub- 
ject to variation, whose amount and cause must be determined for each special 
case." It is proper to add, that Professor Fullerton gives only a qualified assent to 
these conclusions, on the grounds that mathematicians are not agreed as to the 
soundness of the theory upon which the law is based, and that the errors in ques- 
tion may not be independent errors. He considers, however, the results obtained 
by the authors "as sufficiently in accord with the laws to justify them in holding it 
tentatively, and subject to criticism." 

As Fechner's law rests on that of Weber, and on assumptions which appear to 
be incorrect, it also fails, and it follows that the psychophysical, physiological, and 
psychological theories put forward to account for the supposed logarithmic relation 
between mental and physical processes are superfluous. From these conclusions 



we may judge of the importance of the experiments made by Professors Fullerton 
and Cat tell, whose work requires to be carefally studied by all those interested in 
the special questions to which it relates. il 

PsYCHOLOGiE DU Peintbe. By Luiien Arriut, Paris : Felix Alcan. 1892. Pp, 
Lix, 264. Price, 5 fr. 

The author of this interesting work informs us that it does not aim at being a 
natural history of society, nor is it even a study in professional psychology This 
is hardly correct, however, as such a study must be based on that of individuals, 
and a writer of M. Arrdat's reputation cannot treat of a large group of individuals 
witliout tti rowing light on the psychology of the whole class tn which they belong. 
He very aptly likens artists as a whole to a large family, the artist in design to a 
genus of this family, and painters to a species. This has its varieties» and it is by 
the study of these that the author seeks to arrive at a knowledge of the psychology 
of the painter. 

Believing that there exists a relation between the tt-mperament and the q utili- 
ties of the mind and that this is infiueoced by heredity, he devotes the first part 
of the work to questions of physiology and heredity. The second part deals with 
the painter*s vocation, his aesthetic sentiments, his professional memory^ and, as the 
evolution of art is connected with the progress of visual analysis, with his sense of 
sight. Then comes an examination of thti general mental qualities of the painter 
his iniellectual character, his various phases of memory and aptitudes, and the in- 
fluences which affect his work. The fourth part of the botik treats of the painter's 
character, his egoistic and sympathetic traits, his will, and his moral and social 
traits. And finally reference is made to questions of pathology, particularly defects 
of vision, and to "the miseries of genius " 

On all these subjects M, Arreat has many acute remarks supported by numer- 
ous facts, often derived from painters Iheniselves, who thus, says the author, will 
be found " living and speaking on each page, just as they are. and making themselves 
known by their works, sympathetic or disagreeable, indififerent or su|jerior, but al- 
ways interesting." It is noticeable, in connection with the important subject of 
heredity, that in a list of about three hundred painters almost two-thirds are sons 
of painters or of workers in art, and M. Arr^t thinks that if more complete infor- 
mation were obtainable the proportion would be increased. 

In the chapter on the miseries of genius, the author takes exception to the view 
expressed by M. Lombroso that the creative inspiration of genius is, at least in 
some cases, the equivalent of epileptic convulsion That genius may lead to 10* 
sanity is true; and M. Arr<5at admits that remarkable aptitudes have often appeared 
in a family ai the beginning of its degeneracy. But he adds that painters are for 
the most part healthy, and they show hardly any more singularity than other men 
may have He concludes his work with the following words ; ' ' Genius makes use of > 
as we have sufficiently shown, faculties which are common to nearly all men, if they 


are unequally strong and variously distributed with each. Genius, moreover, in 
the most elevated sense that it can be understood, is an exception among artists 
themselves, and even in genius, the meeting together of several happy gifts is ex- 
ceptional. But it is willingly attributed to all those, whatever may Ix? their art, 
whose works are able to touch the human cords that vibrate the most profoundly. 
Painters appear to us to compose a well-marked type among such. The reader has 
seen the characters of it brought together and discussed in this volume : he will 
preserve its living image after having closed the book." This in itself furnishes a 
sufficient recommendation for the perusal of M. Arreafs work, which apart from its 
psychological value, is a perfect mine of gracefully written information about pain- 
ters and their peculiarities. 12. 

Phvsiologie de l'Art. By Geor<^es Hirth. Traduit de I'Allemand et precede 
d'une Introduction par ZwriVw .-/rr<frt/. Paris: F^lix Alcan, 1892. Pp.247. 

We have now occasion to review a work on a subject much akin to the preced- 
ing—a work which has been translated from the German by the same author. M. Lu- 
cien Arrcat, and supplied by him with a very interesting introduction. This Intro- 
duction is in reality a r^ume by M. Arreat of a series of studies by M. Hirth on 
physiological optics. These studies are of great importance and are classed by the 
French editor under the three heads of Form, Illumination, and Movement. The 
first of these comprises the subjects of monocular and binocular vision, the depth 
and the bilateral enlargement of the visual field, perspective and identical points. 
Under the head of illumination the effect of the "double bath of light " through 
the two eyes, the "luminous equation," and the problems connected with optical 
measurement are considered. 

We have not space to exhibit fully the author's ideas on these topics, but we 
can state what are regarded by M. Arreat as the two principle propositions which 
give to them their life and unity. One of these propositions is, that the first func- 
tion of our dioptric apparatus consists in furnishing to our central visual organ, 
which M. Hirth terms the internal t-ye, material which the latter has to interpret. 
The other is that it is necessary to get rid of mathematical concepts, which are 
much too rigid to be applied to the delicate problems of vision, and to fall back on 
visual sensation such as it is. These propositions imply, moreover, the admission 
of an electro chemical process, "without which the properties of the eye and the 
marvels of vision remain inexplicable." This last conclusion has a bearing on the 
nature of memory, or the recollection of the impressions received by the ner\*es and 
brain after the original excitation has disappeared. Thus, M. Hirth suggests that 
when we know the physiological procedure in the impregnation of cerebral mole- 
cules, or in their electric charging, memory will be found to be only the prolonga- 
tion of the duration of consecutive images. 

The inquiries of M. Hirth throw great light on the difference between monocu- 
lar and binocular vision, for information as to which and other details of his optical 



theory we must refer our readers to M. Arr^at's Intrcx!uction. This concludes with 
a cojisideratioji of the perception of Itghl-movement, the reproduction of which is 
!?aid to require a special exercise of attention, direct or indirect. Here we have 
the third degree of attention, according tb the views of M. Hirth, who regards it as 
artistic apperception, having it*, end in itself and capable of being reproduced through 
co-ordination of the mov^ernents perceived. 

A considerable portion of the second and principal part of this work i» occupied 
with the psychology of attention and of the related suhjuct memory. The latter 13 
defined by M* Hirth as "a sum of states of perception gradually accumulated by 
the various organs of sense," and it is thus not a special faculty of the mind. The 
mental condition which results from the action of memory is what is known as dis- 
piHtfion, This disposition is transmitted from one generation to another, and be- 
confies innate as the memory of the species. But it is intimately connected with the 
nervous system, and with the brain reg^irded as the electric storehouse of memories. 
It is in accordance with these ideas that the author explains the trinsmission of 
hereditary qualities, the problem which is at present engaging so much attention. 
The innate organisation is a conservation of nervous quality or temperaments asso- 
ciated with the anatomical disposition of the nervous system, and a certain condi- 
tion of electrical tension among the cerebral molecules. The transmission of ances- 
tral qualities depends, however, on the vigor and goLtd condition of the germ, and 
as the organisation received from our earliest ancestors is the most persistent, the 
primitive '* disposition " will subsist even without exercise whilst nutrition and cir- 
culation assure the continuance of molecular growth 

It is with the visual memory that the author is chiefly concerned, and he affirms 
that ihf optical phenomena referred to in the Introduction compel us to admit the 
existence in the brain of a central organ, which he terms the internal eye, In order 
to determine the position of this organ, which is the real seat of visual perception, 
to the exclusion of the retina, whose function has been overestimated, M, flirth 
considers the anatomical and physiological aspects of the question, and he accepts 
the conclusion arrived at by H. Munk in his fumtions i/c P^torn? cerebraie, that 
perception is the function of a particular portion of the cerebral cortex. There 
thus exist two visual centres or *' internal eyes/' one in each convexity of the occipi- 
tal lobes, as shown in Plate V, of the present work. Munk's researches would seem to 
prove, moreover, that not only is there a general localisation of visual memories^ 
but that each memory is fixed in a precise and determine<i place. The centres of 
memory and the centres of perception, which M. Hirth supposes to be simply a 
phase of memory, are the same. Moreover aiienlion is connected with perception, 
but it is an imperfect state of memory. Attention requires the expenditure of force, 
while perfect memory acts spontaneously; and it is only in this form, "exempt from 
fatigue, that it becomes the passive servant of our instincts and sensations, of our 
voluntary acts, of our labor," Memory when perfect is automatic, and according 
to the theory of M, Hirth, who does not accept M. Ritxit's monoideistic theory, it 



is accompanied with automatic aUention, which is the result of a gradual transfor- 
mation of **eaerget]c" attention, and attains in a normal adult an incredible devel- 
opment both in quantity and quality. This iatnU attention is required by the 
existence of latent memory, which is properly spoken of by M. Hirth as an organic 
attribute of the highest moment, seeing that it forms the basis of all individual ac- 
quirements. It would seem to answer, how ever » to what is often spoken of as the 

We can understand how this doctrine of latent memory and latent attention 
can have an important bearing on the question of the origin of the artistic sense, 
especially as each brain centre may be supposed lo have its own memory, and each 
fundamental memory its special temperament. The activity of such centres is due 
in great measure, as pointed out by M. Ribot, to nutrition and blood -circulation 
but M. Hirth adds a third factor, electrical tension. According to his theory, cere- 
bral activity rests ultimately on electricity, the invisible currents of which, main- 
taining the whole system in a state of tension, are " the inferior currents of the latent 
memory," the brain centres being electrical accumulators. This idea, which the 
author applies also to the explanation of colored visual memories* is open to strong 
critical objections. In relation to the particular subject of art, the author shows 
that the hereditary transmission of talent depends on the active maintenance of the 
special temperament of certain fundamental memories and their associations, and 
talent itself therefore depends on the existence of such a temperament. We here 
come in contact with M I-ombroso's theory of the physiological degeneracy of genius* 
which M. Hirth opposes with much force* and we think on the whole with success. 
This discussion occupies the last chapter of a work that, as our readers will be able 
to judge from the glance given here at some of its leading topics, has a scientific 
value quite apart from the special subject of art which it is intended to illustrate, 
and which it goes far towards establishing on a physiological basis. 0, 

Lks Alterations de la Person naliti^. By Aifred Binet. Paris : Felix Alcan 
1852. Pp, 325. Price, 6 fr. 

In the present work, the accomplished director of the laboratory of physiology 
ical psychology at the Sorbonne has brought together and systemalised all the most 
reliable phenomena bearing on one of the most curious subjects of inquiry now en- 
gaging attention. Notwithstanding the disagreement between diferent experimenters 
as 10 particular facts, all have arrived at the conclusion that, under special condi- 
tions, the normal unity of consciousness may be broken, and that then there is the 
production of several distinct consciousnesses *' each of which can have its percep- 
tions, its memory, and even its moral character." No one is better fitted than M 
Hinet to perform the eclectic work he has undertaken of discussing the recent re- 
searches on the alteration of personality, without regard to the special views of par- 
ticular schools. 



The subject is considered by him under the three heads of Successive Person- 
alities, Coexisting Personalities, and The Alterations of Personality in the Experiences 
of Suggestion. The two first parts deal chiefly with phenomena presented by som- 
nambolic and hysteric subjects. In the third part M Binel applies the fact of the 
duplication of personality to the explanation of the phenomena of spiritism, the 
term he very properly gives to so-called spiritualism. He regards the supposed 
spirit agent as the subconscious personality of the medium acting under the in- 
fluence of suggestion, a view which undoubtedly meets most of the actual facts of 

Notwithstanding the divisibility of the ego, there can be no doubt of the unity 
of the personality under normal conditions. The question is as to the nature of this 
unity, and the author follows M. Kilxjt in affirming ihat it consists in the coi^rdina- 
tioQ of the elements which compose it. He repudiates the idea that memory is the 
sole foundation of consciousness, as not only may one memory embrace different 
states, but the same individual may have several memories, several consciousnesses, 
and several personalities. For the opinion of M. Binet on other points we must 
refer our readers to the work itself, which forms an important addition to the Inter- 
national Scientific Library. U. 

L'HOMME DANS LA NATURE. By Pfjiil Tt^pinnni. With 101 Illustrations in the 
text. Paris: Felix Mean. 1891. Pp.350. Price, 6 fr 

The present is the third work in which Dr. Paul Topinard, the well-known 
pupil and successor of M Broca, the founder of French Anthropology, has given 
to the public his general ideas in relation to the science of which he has made so 
profound a study. In 1876 he published his Jnthrfft^hgU, which reflected in 
great measure the teaching of his master, Broca, Ten years later, in 1886. ap- 
peared his larger and more important work, EUments d\inthropohgie giniraU^ 
which treated of the history and methods of anthropology, with various other sub- 
jects. Now Dr Topinard gives us his matured ideas on "Man in Nature," by 
which is meant physical nature, the object of the present work being to show the 
place that man occupies physically among animals, and his probable origin or de- 
scent. It is not surprising that a writer who was the pupil of Professor de Quatre- 
fages as well as of Professor Bnica should declare himself a supporter of the prin- 
ciple of unity of compiisition. formulated by M, Etienne Geoff roy Saint-Hilaire, 
from which flows that of evolution, that is the natural derivation of beings from 
one another. As to the means by which this is brought about, the author reserves 
his opinion until the publication of a further work which he has in preparation. 

Dr. Topinard devotes the second chapter of the present work to a consideration 
of the position to be accorded to anthropology in relation to the other sciences. 
He declares it to be a pure, concrete science, essentially anatomical and observa- 
tory, and thus distinguishes it from ethnography, which has to do with peoples under 
all their aspects. Both alike are branches of the science of man in its broadest 



sense. If anything can be added to the author's explanation, it is that anthro- 
pology has to do with mankind as a series of imfiviJuah, while ethnography is con^ 
cerned with the x^roti/>s into which such individuals are collected. This is not in- 
consistent with Dr. Topioard's de6ailioti of anthropology as the science "which 
studies human races, the human species, and the place of man in the classification 
of animals." For all the facts on which it is based are derived from the observa- 
tion of individuals, and when races are compared with each other, they are com- 
pared as ideal individuals, formed by a generalisation of certain prevailing quati* 
ties, just as mankind by a similar process becomes an ideal individual, a scientific 
Adam, who is compared with other animals. There is an apparent diilicuUy in re- 
lation to psychology which Dr. Topinard claims entirely for anthropology, but it 
disappears when we see how closely he associates psychology wirh physiology. He 
says, and we quite agree with him, that "characters of a psychological nature, re- 
duced to their most simple expression, whether attributed to human races, or to 
the general human type, belong to ordinary physiological characters; the corre- 
sponding anatomical part lakes its place by the side of other physical ch.iracters; 
the theory and explanation of intellectual operations, of feelings and volitions, be- 
long to the special physiology of man and to the application of the ideas of general 
physiology- ' 

While accepting as correct the division of anthropology, in its restricted sense 
into general and special, as proposed by Broca and Bertillon, the author thinks it 
does not conform to the plan which should be adopted if it is desired to proceed, 
by the method of analysis and synthesis, from the known to the unknown. The 
plan adopted by Dr. Topinard is, by analogy with the procedures of general zool- 
ogy, to begin by recalling the general notions applicable to his subject as to the 
distribution of animals by groups of varying values, the choice of characters on 
which they repose, and the differences between the race, the species, the family, 
and the order, these last forming the pivoting point of his views as to the place of 
roan in classification. Then commences the study of characteristics, the mode of 
ascertaining them, of putting them to use and of appreciating their value, accom- 
panied by examples, drawn from special anthrojxilogy. proper to illustrate the 
methods employed. Finally, a parallel is drawn between man and animals, that a 
conclusion may be arri%*ed at as to the place of man in the series of beings, and his 
probable genealogy. 

All these points are carefully considered by the autbor, who has framed a 
canon of the medium adult man of the European type, a figure baseiJ on which 
forms the frontispiece to the work. The proportions of this figure are derived from 
a comparison of all the most authentic published measurements, and the canon 
framed from them conforms closely to that recognised in artists" studios, eitcepl that 
in the latter the arm is itxj short and the neck too long. 

The most generally interesting subjects discussed by the author are those ocra- 
nected with the relationship of man to other animals, and particularly the structure 



of the brain. Dr. Topiaard makes a careful comparison of the cerebral coovolu- 
tioQS of \rarious animals and man, with numerous illustrations, and he arrives at 
the conclusion that none of tbe characters said to distinguish man from ihe anthro- 
poid apes are absolute ; all are reducible to a question of degree of evolution, the 
superior degree being sometimes found among the anthropoidSp and the inferior de- 
gree with man. The cerebral type of the anthropoids is a human type not com- 
pletely developed, or the cerebral type of man is a developed simian type, Man 
thns undoubtedly belongs to the order of the Primates. After considering the form 
and volume of the simian and human brains, the author remarks that "man alone 
has a frontal lobe developed in all its parts, and filling up a large, concave, and 
deep frontal shell which externally gives place to the forehead, one of the charac- 
teristics of man.'* 

Connected with the form and volume of the brain is the transformation of the 
animal skull into the human skull, and the relation of this transformation to the 
facial characteristic* of man. These points, and also various questions connected 
with the bipedal or quadrupedal altitude, and with the attitude and function of 
prehension, are treated in detail, as are certain other distinctive simian and human 
characters. A chapter is devoted to a consideration of the important subject of re- 
trogressive anomalies and rudimentary organs. In his concluding chapter Dr. 
Topinard points out the place of man in animal classification, and refers to the 
questions of his single or multiple origin, his genealogy and his future. In connec- 
tion with the subject of classification, the author dwells on the fact that man is not 
the only relatively perfect animal, and yet that none of the mammalia, which we 
admire for their beauty or for their usefulness, equal the monkeys in the possession 
of a brain approaching the human type The brain, tbe hand, and the attitude 
are the three characteristics which especially connect man with the monkey, and 
particularly with the anthropoids, and the question has long been agitated whether 
in these particulars the last named is allied more closely to man or to the other 
monkeys. Dr. Topinard affirms that in all these particulars the anthropoids should 
be classed with the other monkeys, and therefore that man stands alone. 

As to the descent of man, the French anthropologist would seem to agree with 
M. Vogt that the type from which man has developed was also the source of the 
monkey and anthropoid types, and that it first appeared at the commencement of 
the Miocene period, when the earliest monkeys succeeded to the Lemurian of the 
preceding Eocene epoch. Dr. Topinard remarks that this conclusion is agreeable 
to that of the eminent American palaeontologist, Professor Cope, who makes man 
descend directly from the Lemurian without passing through the monkeys and the 
anthropoids^ basing his opinion chiefly on dentition. The question of the descent 
of man is connected with that of the singleness or multiplicity of his origin, and on 
this point the author does not express a decided opinion. He says that all existing 
types of humanity could be reduced to three, the Europo-Semitic, the Asiatico- 
American, and the Negro ; if not to two. the White and the Negro. He adds that. 



nevertheless, *' in losiDg oneself in the depths of time, we can conceive the Negro. 
bom the first, giving btrth successively to the Australoid with frizzled hair, to one 
of the forms of the Brown slocl< with straight or wavy hair, and finally to the white 
European/' Probably his actual opinion is to be gathered fram his final statement 
when comparing the order of the Primates to a tree, that the Lemurians are its roots 
giving birth to several stems, of which one is that of the monkey, from which 
branched the anthropoids, and another, whose point of contact with the first is un- 
known, gives the actual human branch, which runs parallel to that of the anthro- 
poids without being connected with it, and goe^ beyond it. 

As to the future of the human race. Dr, Topinard affirms that the volume of the 
brain will notably increase, that dolichocephaly will give place to a universal bracby- 
cephaly, and that the cellules of the brain will be perfected in quality. As the hu- 
man brain is being thus perfected, the animals nearest to the human type will dis- 
appear, and then man will really think himself the centre round which the universe 
gravitates, the sovereign for whom nature has been created. But even then the 
anatomist wdl bring him to himself by uttering the words of Broca, " Memento te 
aniraalium esse," This work, which forms volume seventy-three of the International 
Scientific Library, is sure to be widely read, and it w ill be indispensable to the 
student of anthropology* who will find in it all the information he requires on the 
methods of the science, O, 

Die Urheimath der Indogermanen und das buropaischb Zahi.systbm. By 
Johannes Sckmiitt. Berlin ^ 1890. Pp. 56. 

This essay is an important contribution to the problem of the place of origin of the 
Indo-Germanic languages. The author is confident that while nothing certain was 
known before, he has established at least one fact which will give us a cUie to the 
solution of the problem. This fact is the interference of the duodecimal system 
with the decimal system. The former is of Babylonian origin, but its effects are 
noticeable upon almost all the Aryan tongues. The duodecimal system is not 
original with the Goths or with any of the Teutons, which can be proved by the fact 
that 60 or a S^kq^k was a round number, but not twelve, the etymology of twelve 
{twa'li/\ being two above a ///, which latter means a certain set. Thus when the 
Gothic hundred as a rule meant 120, w^hen for a long time they distinguished be- 
tween great hundreds (i. e. 120) and small hundreds (i. e, 100), this was due to 
foreign influence. For if twelve had been the basts bf their number system, a ft/ 
would have meant twelve and thenumericat arrangement would have progressed not 
in 10 X 12 but consistently in 12 x 12 or 144 Everything points to the supposition 
that the Babylonian u^ysos is still preserved in the German Sthflck (60), Accordingly, 
says Schmidt, the Europeans must have been exposed to a strong influence of the 
sexagesimal system ; they must have been nearer to the centre of Babylonian civ- 
iUsatioa than are the valleys of the Indus and the Eastern Iran. Professor Schmidt 



considers Penka as refuted and also all those who regard Europe as the home of 

We have to add that the eminent philologist when discussing the problem of 
the cradle af the Id do- Germanic laoguages does not touch upon the other problem 
of the home of the Aryans, the latter being mainly an anthropological question. 
Schmidt says (p. 13) : "I do not intend to enter into the problematic domain of an- 
" th topology. The original race-characters of the Indo-Germanic nations, their 
** causes and the home in which they were moulded, also the physical conditions 
**and mixtures of the races which speak our languages, undoubtedly can be treated 
•* with success only by the representatives of physical anthropology. But exactly 
•'so the problem of ttie cradle ot the original Indo-Germanic speech and the evolu- 
'*tJon of its severaJ languages, as they are known in history, can be solved only by 
** philologists/' 

This is very true. Perhaps we shall approach the subject with better succe^ss 
if we learn to distinguish between the anthropological problem of the origin of the 
Aryan race and the philological one of the origin of the Aryan languages. A Eu- 
ropean origin of the one might not exclude an Asiatic origin of the other, and it 
still remains possible, that European Aryans when migrating south and east devel- 
oped through their intercourse with Semitic and other races the beginning of a civ- 
ilisation which powerfully affected all the Aryans, since there is ample evidence 
that even in olden times a lively commerce took place between them. When Prussian 
amber is found in Pelasgian graves, why should not the sexagesimal system of the 
wealthy nations of the south have spread over northern countries ? if/Jf, 


By HHHricli Julius I/oiti»uinH, Dritte verbesserte und vermehrte Auflage. 

Freiburg, i. B.: J, C. B. Mohr. 1892. Pp. 508. Price, 9 M. 
It has been said that the scientific purpose of an academical text-book should 
be to educate the student to scientific independence, and its practical purpose to 
make it available for the adherents of all parties and denominations: and these two 
purposes are the surer attained the less the author represents his own conception as 
that which alone can be justified. This is the principle according to which Pro- 
fessor Holtzmann's Lehrhuch has been written. That he has fully attained his 
aim, will not be doubted by those who know his previous and painstaking labors, 
in which he proves himself as a theologian fully imbued with the spirit of science 
and scientific critique. 

The first edition of this work appeared in 1885, the second in 1886, and the 
present and third edition can make the just claim of being carefully revised and 
perfected in every respect, so that it is to be regarded as a comprehensive, concise, 
and clear review of the critical materials of the New Testament, There is no 
doubt that the work as it now stands will remain the best book for reference of its 



Professor Holtzmann in a brief introduction of seventeen pages sketches the his- 
Btory and literature of New Testament criticism. The book is divided into two parts, 
ihe first ireating the subject in a genera! way, the second entering into its severaJ 
details. In the first part the author presents us with a history of the text and of its 
traditions, explaining the causes of the alterations thai were introduced either uoin- 
tentionally or by mistake ; he review^sthe critical apparatus for text-revision and also 
the history of the printed and revised editions up to the present attempt at emenda- 
tion. Then a history of the canon is given, from the oldest Christian literature down 
to the radical criticisms of the present time. In the second and special part we find a 
careful compilation of all the criticisms concerning the single books and epistles of 
the New Testament The first chapter treats of St. Paul's epistles to the Thessa- 
lonians, Galatians, Corinthians, Romans, to Philemon, the Colosians, Ephesians, 
Philippians. the pastoral epistles ; further, the epistle to the Hebrews, which is non- 
Paulinian, the two epistles of St. Peter, the epistle of St, Jude, and that of St. 
James. The second chapter introduces us into the historical books of the synoptic 
gospels and the Acts, where, in a brief review of fifty-seven pag^. we find the same 
data presented which are more fully explained in another publication of our au- 
thor, re^newed in The Monht^ Vol II. No. 2. 

A new period in the development of Christian literature begins with all those 
writings which go under the name of St. John. A discussion of these books is con- 
tained in the third chapter, which treats of the apocalypse, the fourth gospel, and 
St. John's epistles. Not the least interest attaches to the fourth chapter, the sub- 
ject of which is the vast domain of the apocryphal books of the New Testament, 
the number of which has, of late, been greatly increased by several new discoveries. 
The subject divider itself naturally into apocryphal gospels (Chap. 11), apocryph- 
ical stories about the lives and deeds of the apostles (Chap. Ill), apocryphical epis- 
tles (Chap IV), and apocryphical apocalypses (Chap V). k^k* 

Sammlung von populXr-wissenschaftlichen Vortragen Cber den Bau und die 
LKtsTUNGEN DSs GEHfRNs. By Profcssor Theoihr Meynctt. Vienna and 
Lcipsic: Wilhelm Braumiiller. 1S92. Pp. 253. 

This latest publication of Professor Meynert's was mentioned in the last number 
of Tht Monist by Mr. Christian Ufer, in the department "Literary Correspondence/ 
Since its appearance Professor Meynert has dted. His name has stood foremost for 
a great number of years in the ranks of psychiatrical investigators, and his contri- 
butions to the science to which he was devoted, have, perhaps more than those of 
any other, tended to its permanent advancement. The activity of his life has ex- 
tended over a gre^it number of years, and his tabors have not only been applied to 
the theoretical interests of his science alone, but have also been directed — and this 
is the most important part of every scientist's work — to bringing the results of 
his inve$tigitions into connection with the great body of knowledge at large, and 



especially to putting in popular form, and bringing within the reach of the general 
reader, the facts of the science which he contributed so much to establish. 

The present lectures date from the year j86S. They owe their origin to the 
identification in later years of the interests of medicine with the interests which 
every human being has at heart, of resolving the mysteries of mental operations gen- 
erally. Their main subject is the description and investigation of the structure of 
the cerebral organs ; and the elucidation in the light of such description of the psy- 
chical operatiiDUs of the brain. The fundamental facts of this province are not 
difficult. The main thing required is to free ourselves from the impediments which 
artificial thought on this subject has at all times imported into the consideration of 
intellectual facts. Our knowledge in this domain is founded on observation and 
introspection; not upon dialectics. Phenomena, simply, are presented to observation, 
and not the ultimate essences of forces. So, too, the apparatus of observation and in- 
trospection give only their own phenomena. Their contents are the animated external 
world as it affects conscious beings, and involves, besides intuition, the facts of mem- 
ory, Unpersonal inherited memories, which take the form of instinct, are not forth- 
coming. The present lectures do not pretend to give instruction in the anatomy of 
the brain per jf, but simply in so far as it is necessary to the understanding of the 
brain's mechanism. All things viewed, all things intuited are contents of conscious- 
ness, which in its limitations to the sense-impressions of the individual being, we 
term the ego, or / In so far as the external world is the intuited contents of con- 
sciousness, the extent of the latter is increased, the ego, the /, expands into the 
secondary ego, or /, In this doctrine of a secondary ego the problems which grow- 
out of the behavior of individuals towards the external world are resolved in the 
single explanation that the ego of each pjarticular group of things seeks to preserve 
itself by internal and external motions. The ego is simply in the possession of itself 
in every extension which it acquires ; if such extension consists of a common pos- 
session, its desire and tendency to preser\'e such is simply explained by the fact that 
such possession is the ego itself- Amongst the intuited objects of the ego are to be 
classed also as component parts of the secondary ego of every individual, the other 
living individualities of the world. From the point of view of this fact, the ego 
appears in its social rflle. The present lectures consequently extend to the consid- 
eration of the interactions of brains in society, to culture and civilisation, and seek 
to establish the phenomena of these domains as facts of physical knowledge. The 
method of physical inquiry is that of comparison by the alteration of the attendant 
circumstances in which the psychical mechanism acts. Physiology bases it on ex- 
periment. Nature also supplies experiments with the results that also embrace 
phenomena of culture. In the directions indicated here, the diseases of the mind 
afford a comparative means for the investigation of the phenomena of consciousness. 
a doctrine of natural cerebral experiments, and a foundation for a knowledge of the 
phenomena of mind, fJHpK, 



CONTENTS : Vol. III. No. 5. 
Ueber bin optisches Paradoxon. By Franz Brentano. 
" Flatternde Herzen." By Adolf Szili. 
Uebbr BegrOndung einer Blindenpsychologib von binem Blinden. By 

Friidrich Hiischmann. 
Bbmerkungen Cher die von Lipps und Cornelius besprochene Nachbildbr- 

scheinung. By Otto Schivarz. 

CONTENTS : Vol. III. No. 6. 
Beitragb zur Dioptrik DBS AuGBS. By M. Tscherning. 
Optische Streitfragen. By Th. Lipps. 

CONTENTS : Vol. IV. Nos. i and 2. 
Ueber die Schatzung kleiner Zeitgr5ssen. By F. Schumann. 
Zur Kenntniss des successiven Kontrastes. By Kichard Hilbert. 

The first article is on an optical paradox. Let two equal parallel lines be 
drawn, as in the cut below ; then let two small straight lines be drawn from the ex- 





Cut 1. 

tiemities of these in such a way that in the first they form acute angles with the 
line and in the second, obtuse angles. The first, it will be seen, appears shorter 
than the second. What is the explanation of this phenomenon ? 



The author's answer is. that this phenomenon is a consequence of the well- 
known fact that we overestimate small angles, and underestimate large ones. The 
presence of the lines has nothing to do with the optical illusion, as the inserted 










Cut 2. 

Cut 3. 

cut, in which the lines are omitted, shows. (Cut 2.) The optical illusion is also not 
present when the lines are rectangularly attached, as is Cut 3. These facts prove 
that angular inc/ifuition is the decisive factor. The following cuts show this, the 
first in a more and the second in a less marked degree. (Cuts 4, 5.) The simplest 



Cut 5. 
case in which the explanatory factor of this ph^nomanon is involved, is thit of t'.i • 
estimation of the distance of an isolated point from the extremities of a >'i ) "i .^'r f^'i : 
line The estimation of this distance is dependent upon our estimation of thi ngl ? 
made by lines drawn from the point to the extremities of a short line. If this esti- 



mation is false, it prodoces by an exact IrigonDmetrkal law, an error in the estima- 
tiDDof the corresponding distance This explains all. In our first figure the factor 
of illusion is eight times presented . hence its raarked character. 

The second article consists of a rather long series of experiments on the so- 
called *' flatternde Herzen " by Adolph Szili 

The third article is on the foundaiions of a psychology of the blind, by a blind 
man, Friedrich Hitachmaon, ol Vienna. This article contains a number of interest- 
ing facts concerning the sensory, intellectual and emotional life of bltud people. 
and affords a great many valuable hints for the development of the special pt^ycbnl* 
ogy which the author has in view. 

The first article of No. 6 of the Zntsihrift is a very exhaustive one, some sixty 
pages in length, filled with special and technical investigations concerning the diop* 
tries of the eye. When light p;isses from one refracting medium into another it is 
partially reflected at the dividing surface, and transmits by reflection the objects 
from which it has proceeded. This is also the case with the human eye, which is 
itself a lens. The refracted pictures are the only pictures of importance to Ihe pos- 
sessor of the eye ; but just as in the construction of optical instruments, the re- 
flected or "lost" images are of supreme importance to the optician in the determi- 
nation of the properties of his productions, so these same pictures in the human eye 
are of supreme importance to the physiologist and the psychologist. This is the 
subject of Dr. T=cheming's researches. 

In the second article Dr. Th. Lipps discusses some mooted questions of optics. 
The first part of the article is a reply to Schwarz s criticism in the preceding num- 
ber of the Zeitschrift. The second part is a review of Franz Breniano's explanation 
of the optica! paradox, discussed in the second paragraph of this notice. Lipps de- 
clares, that, though there is some truth in Brentano's explanation, it is nevertheless an 
error to believe that acute angles, as sHth, are overestimated, and obtuse angles, as 
such, are underestimated. On the contrary, every time such errors in estimation 
occur, there exist particular reasons for it, the character of which renders the at- 
tempt impossible to derive the estimation of distance directly from the estimation 
of angles. Lipps supports his position by actual facts. His chief and most philo- 
sophical remark is, that it is a perilous and improper thing to do to explain isolated 
optical illusions by isolated and independent hypotheses : optical illusions are not 
exceptions: thtfy constitute a class of phenomena in themselves, and they should 
be considered in their natural and logical connection. (Hamburg and Leipsic : 
Leopold Voss.) //x/m. 


Uebbr Real- und Beziehings-Urtheile By J. v. AViV/. 

Was 1ST Lor. IK ? By .-/, Voi^t. 

ZuR PsYCMOLOGiE i>ER Lasdscbaft. By A*. IVhsstik, 

Des Nic. Tetens Stellung is der Gescbichte der Philosophie, 

By ,1A 

The articles of this magazine are usually very rigorous and learned ; and the 
contents of the present number are in keeping with its reputation. I'rof. J. v. 
Kries discusses in an essay, evoked by the recent articles of Kiehl, the subject of 
"real and relational judgments " : his object is to establish a classification, and dis- 
play the logical connection, of judgments generally. Real judgments are predicaltons 



concemmg reality or actual facts : relationiil judgments predicate simple relations 
of concepts, etc. The first requisite of a scicDtific exactness of thought, says Kries. 
is the distinction and determination in any given rase of judgments which are real 
and judgments which are relational In the second article, which is long and ex- 
haustive, Dr Voigt endeavors to determine the characters and functions of the 
different kinds of logic. In view of the great prominence into which algebraical 
logic of late years has come» this article is one of considerable interest. Voigt de- 
fines the pretensions and powers of the two opposing systems of philosophical and 
algebraical logic, and attempts to set forth the justification of each, Voigt, as 
opposed to Husserl, cordiall)^ recommends the study of algebraical logic to philoso- 
phers, that both disciplines may profit by the intercourse. (Leipsic ; O, R, ReJs- 
land.) fimpK, 

to 8. 

CONTEXTS : Nos. 5 and 6. 
DiB WiRKUcHKEiT ALS Phanombn des Geistes. (Concluded.) By -/. Koxituki, 
We SEN UNO Bedeutung der I m person a lien. By j?. /'. A'aimiL 
ZvR Gescmichtb UNO zvu Problem der Aesthetik, By E, A'uknfmonH. 
CONTENTS : Nos, 7 and 8. 


Studie, By J/ Offnct. 
ZuR Geschichte und zum Problem der Aesthetik. (Concluded.) By E, 

Werke 21TR Phjlosophie der Geschichte und des soctALEN Lebens (Second 

Article 1 G, de Gre^f, fntr^^ductien h h s(*dohgk\ By /'. Tdnnus. 
Recension EK, 


A. Rosinski's contribution is a metaphysical essay on reality viewed as a phe» 
nomenon of the mind. The results of his discussion are these : that the world of 
experience, with all its laws and phenomena^ and all we assume to exist /<'/- ^f-, is 
referable wholly to ourselves ; that the primal source and cause of all reality is not 
a something which lies absolutely outside us, but is simply our own self, or ego. In 
what sense reality is reality, the aulhor proposes to discuss in future articles. 

Dr. Raimund Friedrich Kaindl discusses, in the second article, the character 
and meaning of the imperstmal verbs The discussion is made both from the psy- 
ch ologico- logical point of view, and from the point of view of comparative philology. 

The /Viihsup/iisihc Mvnatshfrfte contain, in each issue, a very exhaustive 
bibliography of all the works which have appeared during the month in the prov- 
inces connected with philosophy, This department is conducted by Dr. Ascherson, 
the librarian of the Berlin University library, and forms a very important and val- 
uable feature of this magazine. (Berlin: Dr. R. Salinger) />*c/jk. 

SCHE KRITIK, Vol. 100. Nos. i and 2. 

This well-known magazine, formerly edited by Dr. J, D. FichteandDr. Ulrici, is 
now presided over by Dr. Richard Falckenberg, of Eriangen. It has reached its hun- 
dredth volume, and with the present two numbers begins a new series. Its reviews 


and lists of newly published works are comparatively complete. Its articles, though 
generally tinged with scholasticism and chiefly treating of philosophico-historical 
subjects, deal, nevertheless, with some modern and livitig questions ; for example, 
Dr. Max Schasler's discussion of the proceedings on the recent Prussian school law ; 
Dr. £ug;ene Dreher's consideration of the law of the conservation of force ; and Dr. 
Nikolaus von Seeland's discussion of the deficiencies of the current theory of force 
The other articles are contributed by A. Wreschner, G. Frege. J. Zahlfleiscb. and 
Robert Schellwien. (Leipsic: C. E. M. Pfeffer. ) /My>x. 

1892. Vol. IV. No. 4. 

The Extent of the Cortex in Man, as Deduced from the Study of Laura 

Bridgman's Brain. By Henry If. DofuilUstyn. 
Some Influences which .\ffect the Rapidity of Voluntary Movements. 

By F. H. Dresslar. 
Experimental Research Upon the Phenomena of Attention. By Janus 

R, Atv^cll and Arthur If. Pu-nc'. 
Some Effects of Contrast. By -7. A'irsr/i/fuinn. 
Report on an Experimental Test of Musical Expressiveness. By /iffi- 

jamin h'cs Giltnan. 
Psychological Literature. (Worcester, Mass.: Clark University.) 

MIND. New Series. No. 3. July, 1892. 

Lotze's Antithesis BETWEEN Thought AND Things. (I.) By./. /uuiuuH'tf 
The Festal Origin of Human Speech. By /. PoftoTait. 
The Logical Calculus. (IU.) By II'. li. Johnson. 
The Field of .Esthetics Psychologically Considered. (I.) By //. A* 

Discussions : The Influence of Muscular States on Consciousness. By Edmuna 

B. Dt'laharre. Dr. MUnsterberg and his Critics. By E. B. Titchencr. The 

Definition of Desire. By Ifenry Ruti;crs Marshall, Feeling, Belief, and 

Judgment. By J. Mark Baldioin. 
Critical Notices. (London : Williams & Norgate.) 


II. No. 4. 

Natural Selection in Morals. By S. Ahxandrr. 
What should be the Attitude of the Pulpit to the Labor Problem ? By 

\V. L. Sheldon. 
Ethics of the Jewish Question. By Charles Zeublin. 
Machiavelli's Prince. By //'. R. Thayer. 
On the Founding of a New Religion. By B. Carneri. 
An Analysis of the Idea of Obligation. By Frank Chaptnan Sharp. 



Prof. S. A-lexander, in his lecture delivered before the Ethical Scx:ieties of 
Cambridge and London, here reprndiiced, points out that the growth and change 
of moral and social ideals are the result of a process of mental conflict Professor 
Sheldon thinks only a partial solytion of the labor problem is possible until the 
second coming of men somewhat of the type of St, Francis of Assisi. " who will 
sacrifice their personal opportunities, abandon their station in the world, and go 
down to apply their gifts and acquirements to the cause of the lower stratum of so- 
ciety/* The religious as well as economic opposition to Judaism, according to Mr, 
Charles Zeublin, is caused by the exclusiveness of the Jew, and his ultimate welfare 
and that of hisneiijhbors requires a humanitarian treatment within and without Juda- 
ism- Mr. William R. Thayer shows that Machiavelli merely described things as 
they were in his time, and deduced the laws which actually controlled the public 
deeds of rulers; and that it is now 'Uhe duty of all men to sweep away the old 
falsehood that rulers and governments are absolved from paying ht^ed to those 
ethical principles to which every individual is bcjund " According lo Mr, B. Car- 
neri, the living at peace with oneself and one's fellowmen is possible only without 
religion, "because there is no morality without contentment, and it is the highest 
degree of discontent to strive for something beyond this world." Mr. Frank Chap- 
man Sharp concludes that when the element of fhf i^oiui is taken out of the concep- 
tion of obligation, this degenerates into mere submission to an arbitrary imperative ; 
the foundation for the distinction between right and wrong must be sought in 
something that appeals to us as good, and its ultimate criterion can be given only 
by our chosen ideal. (Philadelphia: htt^rnafiomii Jourmii of Efhtts, |j8 S 
Twelfth Street. ) 12. 


Inhibition and Freedom of the Wh.l. By Or, Jo nits If. Uyshp, 

A Classificatjon of Cases of Association. By Mary \V, Caikins. 

The 0»tGts of Pleasure and Pain. By Df\ Herbert Xiihofs, 

On Primitive Consciousness. By I/inim Jif. Sinniey. 

Reviews of Books. 

SuMMAKiEs OP Articles, 

The confusion incident to the old controversy about freedom is due, says Dr, 
James H. Hyslup, to a failure to distinguish between the prottf of freedom and the 
iomiitiiiHs of it. that is, ** the circumstances that are necessary to it, or the charac- 
teristics that constitute it, " Freedom consists in " self-ioitiative and independence 
of external causes, whether there be any choice between alternatives or not," and 
inhibition and deliberation bring about both of these circumstances. Miss Mary 
\V. Calkins rejects the ordinary division into association by contiguity and associa- 
tion by similarity, and gives detailed summaries of the fundamental characteristics 
of consciousness on which association depends and of the characteristics of associa- 
tion proper; the ultimate fact of association, whether it be psychical or physical or 
both, we do not understand Dr. Herbert Nichols, in the first part of his article 
on the " Origin of Pleasure and Pain," considers the phenomena of pleasure and 
pain associated with the action of the senses, and concludes that there is no "tang- 
ible evidence indicating that pleasures and pains are inseparable attributes of other 
senses or polar complements of each other, " and that separate sensations of pain 
and of pleasure are probable. Mr. Hiram M. Stanley regards pure pain as primi- 
tive mind, and pleasure as the polar opposite to it, although they are neither abso- 


lutely essential one to the other, pleasure being traced to "an intermediary feeling 
between pain as produced by excess, and pain from lack as differentiated form.' 
Consciousness is fundamentally pain <ind pleasure as serving the organism in the 
struggle for existence. (Boston. New York, Chicago: Ginn & Company.) 12. 


CONTENTS : Vol. I. No. 2. 
The Social Plaint. By li. Benjamin Andye7vs. 
Religious Evolution. By Mi not J. Sa-uige. 

The Origin and Meaning ok the Story of Sodom. By 7'. A". CA<yni\ 
The Foundation of Buddhism. By Mnuritc- BlootnfieUi. 
Imagination in Religion. By I' rant is Tiffany, 
The next Step in Christianity. By .V. I>. McConnell. 
The Implications of Self-Consciousness. By Josiah Koya'. 
HoNV I CAME into CHRISTIANITY. By Xoi'ufa Kishimoto. 
New Forms of Christian Education. By ,\Frs. Ifumphry Ward. 

CONTENTS: Vol. I. No. 3. 
The Essence of Chri.stianity. By Otto rjlcidercr. 
Ecclesiastical Impedimenta. By /. Maihride Stcrrrtt. 
New Testa.ment Criticism and Religious Belief. By Orcllo Cone. 
Tho-mas Paine. By John J I'. C/iadioirk. 
Social Betterment. By XirAo/as /*. (iilman. 
The Role of the History of Religions in Modern Religious Education 

By Jean AWri//e. 
A Poet of His Century. By E. Cavazza. 
Divine Love and Intelligence. By James C. Parsons. 
Book Reviews. 
Su.mmaries of Articles. (Boston : Houghton. MifHin. & Company.) 


CONTENTS: June, 1892. No. 198. 
Existence et devei.oppe.ment de la VolontI^.. I. Existence de la Volonte. 

By ./. I'ouillee. 
SuR QUELguEs Idi^es du Baron d'Holhach. By ./. I.alande. 
Es.sAi SUR LA Philosophie DE Proudhon. By 6*. Sore/. 


CONTENTS: July. 1S92. No. 199. 
L'inconnaissable dans la PHILOSOPHIE .Mt)i)ERNE. By G. Fonse^ri^'e. 
La musique d'apres Herbert Spencer. By /. Comharieu. 
EssAi suK la philosophie de Proudhon (concluded). By ii. Sore/. 

CONTENTS : August. 1892. No. 200. 
Etude critique sur le mysticisme Moderne. By A\>senhai/i. 
Le developpement de la volonth. Hy A. I'oui//ce. 
La beautk organique: £tude d'analyse E.sTHl^:TiguE. By ./. Xari//t'. 
Analyses kt Comptes Rendus. 

.\ccording to M, Fouillee. the principle which tends to dominate psychology 
and physiology is the ubiquity of will and of feeling, and consequently of conscious- 



ness. Psychology will end by recognising the continuity and the transformation of 
modes of psychical energy, as physics recognises the continuity and the transforma- 
tion of modes of physical energy, and philosophy will see in physical energy the 
external expression of wilL 

M. Fonsegrive maintains that the rejection of metaphysics as Science, which 
marks the modem theory of the unknowable, is the consequence of Kant's a priori 
theory as to the origin of our knowledge. The laws of the mind have no real ex- 
istence prior to experience, and universal and necessary notions can be discovered 
only by mental analysis. In this manner the existence, and even the essence, of 
metaphysical beings may be known, but only of such as experience puts in com- 
munication with ourselves. Thus we know Qod as the necessary first cause, al- 
though our notion of God is one of negation, of experimental notions. 

Alter showing that Spencer's theory of music had numerous antecedents, and 
that its conclusions are unacceptable on various grounds. M Combarieu, affirms 
that the secret of the musical art is the identity of the musical idea with the imita- 
tion or expression of the reid world. All music contains a double verity ; it is the 
meeting place of the senses and of the rational world confounded in a unity which 
is the work of art, as man is the combination of a soul and a body confounded in 
the real unity of life. Spencer is an excessive simplifier, and does not see the com- 
plexity of certain questions, which he seeks to resolve by undervaluing them. But 
he has thrown light on one of the aspects of the musical problem. 

In this final essay on the philosophy of Proudhon, M, Sorel considers the theory 
of justice by the light of the notion of free will. He differs somewhat from Proud- 
hon, and affirms that " the just man is the upright man such as our ideal conception 
of antiquity represents him to us, but transformed by our consciousness as refined 
by the influence of Christianity/' In dealing with the real organisation of societies 
it is necessary to distinguish between matters of justice and those of right, which 
includes that of force, of which war is an application. After showing the connection 
of the economic iontraJiitiiJits of Proudhon with the state of war. and the value of 
education for the real is rit ion of equilibrium in the slate, M Sorel affirms that edu- 
cation ought to be based on manual labor, for the explanation of which science 
should be taught ; and that instruction should endure throughout life, so that men 
can elevate themselves and that an equilibrium may be obtained tjetween knowledge 
and industrial needs. (Paris: Felix Alcan.) li. 





col. ven. — ventral column. 

lob. dors. — dorsal lobe. 

lob. ven. — ventral lobe. 

lob. v. inf. — inferior or lower ventral lobule. 

lob. cr. — crural lobule. 

con. dors. sup. — superior (or upper) dorsal connective filaments. 

con. dors. moy. — medial dorsal connective filaments. 

con. dors. inf. — inferior (or lower) dorsal connective filaments. 

con. V. — ventral connective filaments. 

n. cr. — crural nerve. 

n. al. — alary nerve. 

lob. al. — alary lobule. 

rac. sup. — upper (or superior) root. 

rac. moy. — medial root. 

rac. inf. — lower (or inferior) root. 

fa. as. — ascending fasciculus. 





[jh;|.\ com.v 


%i R.O.I 


R ;i. CIO. 



%^ R. C. 3 

_^ i 


VoV OT. 

R.3 2 

A'/tizi'/ri'j^'us sf/s/ifiii/tv First ihoracic j^acRlkin iHufiKQntal sectioDs.) 






\J^ <=tb;l^/ 

R4 C.6 








R 3, C ^ta\.^rc 

A'kUifirif^s soUtitUith. First thoracic ganglion. ^Horizontal sections J 



coi^ \l 



n.,cr coVu 

L 3. R.I. wivVxeiu 

LI R 3 C7 




HkitoirpgHs s0isiiiMJ$s, First thoracic gar* .it rm. (Longituctin^il sections.) 


PLATE l\\ 




U. C.5 5. 5 





R.4 C. 

A*khair0gHs s0isiiiinfh. First thoracic ganglion (Transversal sections. ) 

Vou III. 

January* 1893. 

No. 2. 



IN ihe ** Scientific Proceedings of the Royal Dublin Society'* 
(V^ol. VI, Part IX, p, 475, 1890), Dr. Johnstone Stoney, F. R. S., 
published an interesting and carefully-reasoned paper **On the Re- 
lation between Natural Science and Ontology." The same author 
had previously (1885), in a Fritlay evening discourse at the Royal 
Institution of London, discussed the problem, ''How Thought Pre- 
sents Itself Among the Phenomena of Nature/* Dr. Stoney*s com- 
munications have not (I venture to think) received the considera- 
tion to which ihey are entitled alike on the score of their logical con- 
sistency, if his premisses and assumptions be granted, and by reason 
of the author's scientific eminence as a physicist, I therefore pro- 
pose, ftrstt to endeavor to set forth his monistic D&ctrine of Auta ; 
and secondly, to offer some criticisms thereon. Unfortunately Dr. 
Stoney 's pages bristle with new technical terms, which, though no 
doubt they have been serviceable to him in the attainment of pre* 
cisjon of thought, make hts paper hard reading. Some of these I 
shall introduce ; others which seem less essential to the argument I 
shaJl omit. It would be scarcely fair on the reader's teeth or on the 
author's store to transfer all these hard nuts from Dublin to Chicago. 
No philosophical discussion of a problem involving perception 
can be regarded as complete without the introduction of an orange. 
Dr. Stoney, indeed, substitutes a fire ; but this» though it shows 
philosophical independence, cannot for a moment be sanctioned by 


any good Berkeleyan. An orange then, as such, is a phenomenal 
object formed, in a way we need not now consider, by the synthesis 
of perceptions. These perceptions, themselves synthetic, Dr. Stoney 
calls -'lekmeria/' since they are signs within my mind that events 
are happening in a part of the universe that is distinct from my 
mind- The phenomenal object is supposed by men untrained in 
inquiries relating to the mind to have a non egoistic existence — 
that is, an existence independent of the percipient mind. But this 
supposition is found on careful scrutiny to be an error. It is a pro- 
duct of mental synthesis, and is therefore termed by Dr. Stoney a 
'*syntheton." It is also termed a ** protheton '^ in contradistinction 
to an ** antitheton/' which we shall come to shortly. 

Now if the phenomenal orange is a **syntheton '* — that is, a 
product of perceptual synthesis — it clearly cannot he regarded as 
the tit ft Si' of the perceptions, through and by means of which it is 
constructed in mental synthesis. Here popular thought and ordi- 
nar\' language are apt to mislead us. For ordinary language is 
throughout built upon the popular belief that the objects of the phe- 
nomenal world are non -egoistic or independent txtsfencrs, and, more- 
over, that they are the cause of the perceptions which come into ex- 
istence when we exercise our senses. This is, however, **to put 
the car before the horse/' It is to imagine that a structure built up 
out of the effects of a thing can be the cause of those effects. The 
phenomenal orange is built up of perceptions instead of being the 
cause of them. Their cause is therefore to be sought elsewhere 
than in the phenomenal world of objects. The orange, t/ud orange, 
is therefore a ** syntheton/' and cannot as such be the cause of the 
perceptions or *' tekmeria,' which go to its synthesis. 

Let us now look at these perceptions or **tekmeria** from 
another point of view. They are states of consciousness : they are 
ihoughts, if we use this word in its widest extension to embrace 
ever>thing of which I or my fellow-men or the lower animals are 
conscious. But my own thoughts are, so long as they last, things 
that exist. They may be representative of something outside me, 
but they are also real existenies. While they last they constitute a 
part of the universe of existing things. They are, in Dr. Stoney's 



terminology, auta (ra ovra ainat), thu very things themselves. An 
auto (we shall throughout italicise all that belongs to thisautic order 
of existence) is a thin,^ which really exists ^ and in no wise depends 
on the way we, human minds, may happen to regard it. Our im- 
pressions or beliefs about it may be correct or may be erroneous ; 
but the terra auto means the thin}:; it self. 

Perceptions, then, inasmuch as they are thoughts, are auta. 
They belong, moreov^er, to that class of real existences which, since 
they are woven into the tissue of minds (my mind and the minds of 
my fellow-men and of the lower animals) are termed egoistic auta. 
They do not remain, however, persistent and unchanged ; for per- 
ceptions come and go and are modified as they pass like waves over 
the surface of consciousness. What causes this coming and going, 
and these changes in the egoistic auta we call perceptions ? Not, as 
we have already seen, the world of phenomenal objects ! What 
then, but other aula, which, since they produce effects upon men's 
minds through their senses, may be termed sense'Compeiiin^ auta ? 
The phenomenal orange is thus a »*syntheton" produced through a 
synthesis of the effects wrought upon my ////«// by an autic existence, 
called by Mr. Stoney the onti^-orange. The phenomenal orange is, 
as w^e have seen, a '* protheton *' ; the onto-orangf is its antitheton in 
the universe of real existences. 

We are now beginning to open up Dn Johnstone Stoney 's con- 
ception of the relation of the autic universe to phenomenal Nature. 
Nature is the totality of phenomenal objects ; but corresponding 
with each phenomenal object or *' protheton" there is an onto-ohject 
or antitheton \ and the totality of antitheta constitute the universe. 
Afinds, mine and those of other beings, constitute the egoistic part 
of the universe ; the rest of the universe is constituted by sense-cam- 
pelting auta. 

We may liken the sense-compelling universe to a great machine in 
motion, and the tekmeria or perceptions which it produces within 
our minds to shadows cast by it. The laws of the movements of 
the machine are the real laws of the universe — laws of nature are 
but the laws of the changes which the shadows in consequence 
undergo. It is these shadow laws alone which natural science can 


reach : the real laws of the unwersc oi which these are shadows are 
beyond its grasp. In Nature the reflective eye of science sees not 
only phenomenal objects, but the relations which they bear to each 
other. But such relations are themselves phenomenal ; they are 
protheta of which the onto- reiai ions of the real universe are the 
aniitheia. Every spacerelation, therefore, in Nature- for instance, 
that my foot is at present three yards from the fender — has a real 
autic relation in the sense-conipeliing universe, which is iXsantiiheton ; 
an onto- relation between the onto -foot and onto-fender^ meaning by 
these terms the a tit a which send men the tekmeria which, when 
synthesised, furnish these two phenomenal objects. The space- re- 
lations of Nature are but the shadows cast by the autic retations 
within the minds of men, and perhaps some other animals. 

But among these shadows there can be no efBcient causation. 
When a change takes place in the sense-compelling universe, the 
mighty machine will cast one shadow before the change and another 
after. The second shadow will accordingly succeed the first in or- 
derly sequence, but the relation between the shadows is not the 
relation of cause and effect. Accordingly, in the laws of Nature 
which have been discovered by scientific investigation, we find 
abundant instances of unfailingly concomitant events and of uni- 
formities of sequence, but not one single instance of cause and ef- 
fect There is nothing competent to cause one body to exclude 
another from the space it occupies. A statement of the fact is one 
of the laws of Nature, If a stone be allowed to drop in the vicinity 
of the earth, its downward speed is accelerated by a perfectly defi- 
nite law. This law is one of the Uniformities of Nature which scien- 
tific inquiry has brought to light. But within the domain of Physics 
there is no cause of acceleration. The facts as to what occurs in 
Nature can be observed ; the circumstances under which they occur 
can be investigated ; similar cases can be compared ; and the laws 
to which the simultaneous or successive events conform may be 
brought to light. But here our knowledge ends. Physical science 
has said its utmost 

Now all this is changed when we turn to the only field of ob- 
servation accessible to us in which we are dealing directly with anta. 



The thoughts of which / consist, the thoughts wliich are my mind, 
are auta; a very small group of autaj no doubt, in the mighty Uni- 
Vfrsf, hut still an actual sample, though a very special and one-sided 
sample of what attfa really are. Now in the operations that go on 
in my mind 1 do find instances, some few instances, of causes pro- 
ducing effects. The familiar case of a geometrical demonstration 
producing in a man's mind a belief in the truth of the conclusion is 
a case in point. Here the understanding of the proof is the efficient 
cause of the belief in the conclusion which accompanies that under- 
standing. A wish to accomplish something, and a knowledge of 
how to go about it. both of whicli arc f hough (s in the miftd^ are a 
part of the eflicient cause of subsequent events, unless counteracted 
by other causes, A few other examples can be obtained from the 
same small field of observation ; and this is all that man, in his 
isolated position, has any right to expect ; for the bulk of his thoughts 
are due, at least in large part, to autic causes which lie outside 
his mind, and it is there also that those of his thoughts that are 
known to be causes, usually exhibit their effects. When perceptions 
arise in my mind, the effect indeed is within my mind, but the 
cause is beyond it ; and when I move my muscles the cause is within 
tny mind, but it is outside the mind that it operates. The instances 
are indeed few where the causes and the effects are both within my 
liny group of aula, and it is only in these cases that 1 can have the 
process of causes producing effects under my inspection, 

But since cases can be cited, however few, they suffice to estab- 
lish the fact that the relation of cause and efiect, in its full sense, 
does exist in some instances in the autic universe-, whereas it has no- 
where any place within the domain of physical science. The rela- 
tion of cause and effect among other auta cannot from the nature of 
the case be proved. But from its occurrence in that small part of 
the universe which we do know, we may fairly assume its occurrence 
in all parts of that universe. Such an assumption is at any rate 
justifiable by scientific method. 

We must now pass to another point. The scientific analysis of 
Nature by the physicist has led to an hypothesis which may l>e re- 
garded as the utmost simplification of which the shadows cast within 



the huoKUi mind by the sense-compeUing autic universe are sus- 
ceptible. This Dr. Stoney calls the Diacrinoinenal Hypothesis j 
according to which Nature is made up of objects each of which con- 
sists of almost inconceivably minute and swift motions. The phe- 
nomenal orange is a group of molecular motions; and if I bowl it 
across the tal)le the visible molar motion is a secondary motion oil 
that group of primary molecular motions which constitutes the phe- 
nomenal object as such. And not only is the phenomenal object a 
group of minute and swift motions, hut all the steps between that 
object and our brain, all that takes place in the air or aether, in our 
organs of sense and nerves, can also be represented in terms of 
motion. And finally a change consisting of motions takes place in 
the brain itself, whereupon we become conscious of thought. That 
change which woidd be appreciated as motions by a bystander who 
could search into our lirains while we are thinking, we should expe- 
rience to be thought. Thus we find that in certain cases the autic 
txistence that corresponds with motion, namely in the motions of 
our own brain molecules, is thought. And the most probable hy- 
pothesis as to the true relation of phenomenal Nature and the autic 
universe is that what we have found to tie true in some cases is 
always true, and that in every case it is thought (or rather a change 
in the causal relation in which thought stands to thought) which is 
the antitheton of motion ; so that the totality of all actual existences, 
the universe, is in fact identical with the totality of existing ///£?f/j^Vi/, J 
Of course all this thought, with the exception of that tiny group that 
is my mind^ is as much outside my consciousness as are the thoughts 
of my fellow- men and of the low^er animals. 

Under this view the tuinds of men and of other animals are spe- 
cialised specks, as it were, of a vast ocean of thought, to which they 
bear a like inconspicuous proportion to that borne by the few brain 
motions of which they are the antitheta, to the totality of motions 
throughout Nature. Under this view the laws of the universe are 
the laws of thought. This is a very different thing, be it noted, from 
saying that they are the laws of human thought. Tlie laws of human 
thought bear to them the same small proportion which the laws of 
the action of the wheels of a watch upon one another bear to the 

THi: DOcrmtsf £ of aitta. 


oi dyaannics. The 

ol dvnaBiJCs could otsxer 

be evulTed from a stndr of these laws. Buc perhaps it may ooi be 

hopeless for man to attain 

wonad loMiwiedge of the taws of 

odi as we have 


of the 

war ik^mgki acts wpum iktmgJki open to oar investigatioo in oar own 
tntads, aad since this is sopplemoited by our knowledge of the plm- 
ical laws of nature, which aie a shadow, a probahl J complete shadow, 
ol all the laws ol cansatkm which operate throttghoot the mmmrtw^ 
thfongboot the 

Such islh^. 

Natixral Science to Ontoki^^ I have presented it partly tn his own 
words, paitly in mine. It has been my 

Mimdol the great Amim. 
Stoney's conception ol the lelatioo of 


pat it in as strong aad favoiabie a light as pc»sabfte» and not in any 
way to weaken the strength of its logical consisten cy^ The main 
may now be briefly sommarised in the following 

The phcnooMEaal object is a synthetoa or pnodnct of menial 


Its efficient cause is a remi tJOMUm^t or mtUiiJuimt, 

Natme is the totality of ph en om enal syntheta. 

The mmir^rse is the totality ol antic mmiUkfim. 

There is 00 causation in Nature : but the Unilonmti^ of Na- 
ture are the shadows of the causal Laws ol the Umverse. 

Th§m^ has 00 plaoe in Natare : it is part of the aulic asr- 

Tbe s>-ntheton ol which ik^^ki is the mwiiiluUm is the nM>- 

tioo ol brain roCTifcraies 
It is a probable hypothesis that the mmiisketm of whidi the 

Nature are the s\^theta, are 

This is the 

hypothesi s, that theie is bat one kmd of 

10 the 

thing, viz. ik^mgki; m 
dialwrir hypothcsii that there are two kinds of raisting 
things^ iktmgki and tmMim^. 

I now pons hoBi the aititnde ol eapoMor to the 
And fiist I will attack a qoite 

of oitie. 



Stoney*s assumption that Clifford's hypothesis which he supports 
and extends is ///<* monistic hypothesis, and by implication that it is 
the ifrf/y monistic hypothesis. In opposition to this I venture to 
affirm that there are several forms or phases of monism, I have not 
space to discuss the matter : and must content myself with a bare 
enumeration of some of the logically possible forms of Dualism and 
of Monism. 

I) Dt'AilSM. 

J. Synthetic Duaiism: according to which there are two entities, 
the mind and the body : and these 

a) either work side by side, without interaction, in pre-estab- 
lished harmon}' {pkilosophic dualism), 

b) or interact the one on the other (empirical duaiism), 
B, Analytic Duaiism: according to which there are two elements 

as the result of analysis; motiiui (with or without a material basis) 
and consciousness; the two elements being related in such a way that 
conciousness is inseparably associated with certain complex modes 
of motion. 

a) Monism, 

A. Syfitlicfic monism: according to which there is but one entity. 
And this entity may be : 

a) The body, of which consciousness is a product {malerialisiic 

or physical monism) ; 
if) The mind, of which the body in common with the world of 

phenomena is a fiction (idea lis tic monism )\ 

c) The conscious organism, exhibiting certain transformations of 
energy which are felt as psychical states ( sclent ifc monism), 

B. Analytic monism: according to which analysis discloses but 
one element ; and this may be 

a) motion, of which (or of one phase of which) consciousness is 
merely the psychical aspect (analytic materialism); 

b) consciousness^ of which motion is merely the phenomenal aspect 
{analytic psychism); 

c) X {the unknowable) of %vhich motion is the physical aspect and 
consciousness the psychical aspect {monistic aj^nosticism). 

TBK oocrmisE or aitta. 


Such are sone of the forms or phases of inociisai ais compared 
with those of dualism. It will be seen that Dr. Johnstooe StoDey's 
speculations tall under the bead of what I have termed analjtic 
psycbism, according to which the sole ultimate reality dt^hn^pd by 
analysis is consctotisiiess or thought. So far I have only remmded 
my readers that this, though one form of monism^ is oot the only 
To which Dr. Stoney may very possibly reply that it matters 
r»ot to him whether there are five or fift>^-and-fh*e monistic heresies 
|iiesides the true creed of which he is the prophet. He is ofily coo- 
with die establishment ol the true monistic faith. And as 
Ltterein I should very heartily agree with him, I will pass om without 
I delay to criticsse an assumption that lies close to the heart and cen- 
tre ol his hypothesis. 

On the Brst page of Dr, Stone^'^s essay we read : ** Let ts, for 

convenieoce, call these real existences ania — the very things them- 

selTes, An mmU is a thing that really exists^ and in no wise depends 

on the way we« human minds, may happen to regard it." And on 

rtbe second page we read : '^ My ovn thoughts are, at all eient% 

Mkii^s that exist : thet^ at least are era/«r so long as xhey last. They 

Iwre, according h. while they last^ a part of the mmirrrst 0/ exisiimg 

ikmg%.^ No proof is oflered of this latter assumptioQ that my 

Eight, human thought* is part c»f the tmiverse ol amU. I venture 

'to call this assmnp^on in question. I demand proof of its validtty. 

Nay, I am ready to go further and roundly assert that my thoughts 

are not ^tmta^ and furnish no evidence whatever as to the nature of 

amta^ I am quite aware that I may seem to be giving the lie 

^ to a direct deliveiaace of oooscibusacss ; and that it will be said diat 

it is obviously imposttble to deny the existence ol thought without 

at the same time exercising that, the existence d which is denied— a 

dictimei which contains a very pretty play upon two difcien t uses of 

\ word ** existence. ** 

I go back to the orange, without which as a philosopher I am 

lost. I bold it in my hand, look steadfastly at it, and drink tn with 

my nostrils its fragrant aroma. What sa}^ consctoiisnas? Tliat 

the pb eaom c o al object I call an orange exists. It sa^-s nothing 

cxisteoce^ nothing about mmia. The direct de- 



liverance of consciousness is that an object-in-consciousness exists. 
If a * ' plain man '^ says that the orange has a real existence, as such, 
independent of conscioosiiess, he is going beyond the direct deliver- 
ance. And if a philosopher says that consciousness has a real ex- 
istence, as such, independent of the object, he too is going beyond 
the direct deliverance. And if, as would seem to be the case. Dr. 
Stoney relies on the deliverance of consciousness for the justifica- 
tion of his statement that "perceptions, while they last, are a ///a, 
real existences/' I submit that he is relying on a misinterpretation 
of the deliverance of consciousness. 

The existence of the object-in-consciousness is the datum from 
which plain man and philosopher alike must start. On this foimda- 
tion we must base aJl our reasonings and speculations. Physical 
science directs its attention to the ** object" side of the given rela- 
tion. And it reaches its ** diacrinomenar' result that the orange 
may for physical purposes be represented as a group of swift and 
rapid molecular motions. But can physics at any stage of its anal- 
ysis shake itself free from the '* consciousness" side of the relation? 
Assuredly not. All that it can do is to represent the object-in-con- 
sciousness we calhan orange in terms of other objects-in-conscious- 
ness we term molecular motions. Psychology directs its attention 
to the '* consciousness** side of the given relation. It analyses the 
object-in-consciousness into percepts, sensations, and so forth. But 
can psychology at any stage of its analysis shake itself free from the 
** object" side of the relation? Assuredly not All that it can do 
is to represent the consciousness-of-the-object we call an orange, in 
terms of the objects-in-consciousness we term sensations, relations 
between sensations, and so forth. 

The relation of the consciousness-of-an-object to the object-in- 
consciousness may be made clear by the analogy, which is some- 
thing more tfian an analogy of vision and the visual field. For clear 
and distinct vision, a well-illuminated object of vision, and a healthy 
organ of vision are necessary as cooperating factors. So, too, for 
distinct consciousness a definite object-in-consciousness and a well- 
defined consciousness-of-the-object are necessary as cooperating fac- 
tors. More than this. Unless there be some object of vision, how 



ever vaguei and some organ of vision, however dim, no vision at afl 
is possible. The cooperation of the two factors is essential. So, 
too, unless there be some object-inconsciousness, however vague, 

and some consciousness-of-the-object, however dim, no conscious- 
ness at all, in anything like the human sense of the word **con- 
scioiisness/^ is possible. Here, again, the cooperation of the two 
factors is essential- AnJ nciiher factor is ever given in experience 
without the other. 

Writing as I am, for readers of The Monist. I need hardly turn 
aside to explain what I mean by an object-in -consciousness. And 
yet perhaps a few words on the subject may not be out of place^ and 
may prevent possible misunderstanding. An object-in-conscious- 
ness is not necessarily a tangible, visible object, like an orange. The 
yellowness, the sweetness, the weight, the bare existence of the 
orange, may each in turn be an object in consciousness. For the 
physicist the tangible orange may be represented in terms of swift, 
infinitesimal motions ; and these, not less than the phenomenal 
orange, are objects in consciousness, A conception of conscious- 
ness itself, an imperfect conception, but the best we can frame, may 
be an object of consciousness, just as a reflected image of the eye 
may be to the eye an object of vision. 

It is generally believed by modern psychologists that all objects- 
in -consciousness are derivable by processes of abstraction, general- 
isation, and so forth, from the primitive datum of a perceptual ob- 
ject. And it must be remembered that it is only in abstraction that 
we distinguish between the object-in-consciousness and the con- 
sciousness-of-the-object. The two terms of this, for us, inevitable 
relation are given in inseparable coordination. But in abstract 
thought we can distinguish the inseparable terms ; distinguish in 
thought, that is to say, what is inseparable in actual experience. 
To continue the analogy of vision, we can make the one term focal, 
while the other term remains marginal in the field of view. And 
we can neglect, for the purposes of our thought and reason, the 
marginal term. But we cannot get rid of it. We may deal, as in 
physics, with motion, neglecting the consciousness in and through 
which it is appreciated ; but we cannot get rid of this consciousness. 


Or we can deal, as m psychology, with the consciousness, neglect- 
ing the object -in-consciousness : but we cannot get rid of this object. 
The object-out-of-consciousness and the consciousness-without-an- 
object are ahke unknown — or, if the reader prefers it, unknowable, 
which he may write with as many capital letters as seenieth to him 
good. The common -sense reahst beheves in the existence of ob- 
jects-out-of -consciousness. The analytical psychist believes in the 
existence of conscionsness-without-an-object. Both are, if the views 
here advocated be sound, attributing independent existence to Uiat 
which, so far as human knowledge is concerned, has only dependent 
or relative existence. 

It is unfortunate that the terms *'reaP'and ** reality '' should 
ever have been applied to the independent existence of so-called 
thin^^s-in-themselves. I think such terms as Dr, Stoney*s *'antic" 
and •* autic existence *' would be far preferable. For the word ** real " 
has a meaning and force which is quite definite. The orange that 
I hold in my hand and see with my eyes is as real as real can be. 
And if a philosopher steps in and says, ** My dear sir, //taf is not real ! 
The real reality is, according to some» mind-stuff or consciousness ; 
according to others, motion of ^ well I don't quite know what, so let 
us simply call it motion ; and according to others this real reality is 
unknowable*' — I say if a philosopher steps in and talks like this, one 
is reminded of Lamb's remark on Coleridge. Coleridge had been 
maundering on, as was his wont, on ** subject*' and ** object*' and 
all the rest of his second-hand German metaphysics, when Lamb 
broke in, with his forcible stammer, in a stage wiiisper: ** N-n-n-never 
mind C-c-ccoleridge ; it's only his f-f-f-fiin." 

1 repeat that the orange I hold in my hand and see with my 
eyes is as real as real can be ; and that we have here the standard 
and criterion of reality not only for plain men but for philosophers. 
In the perceptual object we have reality given in its clearest, fullest, 
and most forcible form. Every step in theanal^'sis of the perceptual 
object'in-consciousness ; every step in the analysis of the conscious- 
ness-of-the-object takes us so far further from reality at its best. The 
orange as an object-in-consciousness is far more real to me than 
either the swift infinitesimal motions of the physicist, or tlie **syn- 



theton'^ of related and integrated sensations of the psychologist. 
And when we reach the autic existence which is supposed to iinderiie 
both motion and consciotisness, we seem to get just as far as it is 
possible for the human mind to get from the real orange with which 
we started. And yet it is to this autic existence that metaphysicians 
apply the term *^reaP' in a different sense. For so far I have used 
the word **real'' for that which is given in experience. But meta- 
physically the word **real " is used to indicate independence of ex- 
perience. I repeat that for this independent existence some such 
word as Dr. Stoney's ** autic'* would be far better and less mislead- 
ing. It would emphasise the distinction between reah that is to 
say given in direct experience, and atitk, that is to say independent 
of experience. 

Accepting at any rate for our present purpose this distinction, 
we have as coordinate realities the ohject-in-consciousness and the 
consciousness-of-the-ohject. And these two are only different aspects 
of the one great reality, the reality of experience. Of these two 
aspects neither is more real than the other The object-in-con - 
sciousness is every bit as real as the consciousness-of-the-object ; the 
orange as real as our perception thereof. Both are intensely and 
vitally real : but — here I am in opposition to Dr. Stoney — nrithcr is 
autk, I can find no warranty for such autic existence in direct ex- 
perience or the so-called deliverance of consciousness. Nor am I 
aware of any process of reasoning by which it can be demonstrated. 

But, it may be said^ is it not in accordance with scientific method 
to make an assumption and then see how far such assumption is 
justified by the results it enables us to reach ? Assuredly such pro- 
cedure is allowable and often fruitful It is not on such grounds, 
however, that Dr. Stoney, if I rightly understand him, bases his 
doctrine of the psychical nature of anta. Let us^ nevertheless, pay a 
moment's attention to this assumption and the correlative assump- 
tion of analytic materialism. Consciousness and matter-in- motion 
(or bare motion perhaps) are the ultimate elements reached by tlie 
psychologist on the one hand and the physicist on the other. Neither, 
if he knows his business, pretends by this analysis to have reached 
autic existence. But it is open to each to make an assumption. The 




materialist says: I assume that motion is tiie true antic existence, of 
which, under appropriate conditions, human consciousness is merely 
a psychical aspect. The psychist says : I assume that consciousness 
is the true autic existence, of which motion is merely the phenomenal 
aspect. 1 confess that if 1 were forced to choose one of these two, 
(which fortunately 1 am not,) I should elect to throw in my lot with 
the materialists. For if justiftcation by results is to be the criterion, 
I hold that the results the materialists have to show far outweigh 
any results which the analytic psychists can produce. But the fact 
of the matter is that in neither case do the results flow from the 
autic assumption. All the results are equally valid for the student 
who holds fast to the relativity of object-in -consciousness to con- 
scjousness-of-the-object. Since therefore the assumption is valueless 
so far as practical results are concerned, and since it is somewhat 
repugnant to sound reason to assume that either term of a given re- 
lationship is the same out of relationship as it is in relation to its 
fellow* I contend, as against both materialist and psychist, that it 
fails to make good its claim to acceptance. 

What shall we say then of a a hi or Ihui^^s in //wmst/irs/ Simply 
that we do not know anything about them — that they are outside 
the pale of human knowledge. If we even say they exist we are 
using the word ** exist" in an autic and unreal sense. It is phenom- 
enal Nature which constitutes the real Universe ; of its autic shatUw^ 
supposing that there be such a shadtmf^ we know nothing. Need 
we then stay to criticise this unknown s/tad&wl 

Even if we take Dr. Johnstone Stoney's hypothesis as it stands 
we find a marked distinction between the sense-compelling attta and 
the egoistic auta^ or between the sense-compelling aspect of auia 
and the egoistic or perceptive aspect. How is this distinction to be 
explained and accounted for ? I can see no answ^er to this question 
save that the distinction is a matter of experience. Why not, then, 
trust experience fully? Why go beyond it at all ? Why not say that 
both the sense-compelling aspect and the perceptive aspect are part 
of the relation which is given in experience? If Dr. Stoney coidd 
only see his way to this concession and could be led to adopt scien- 
tific monism, which is based on relativity, he would still secure all 



that is valuable in his hypothesis, and at the same time get rid of 
the difficulties which as it stands encumber it. But it would no 
longer be a doctrine of att^a. 

For scientific monism is not a doctrine of tiu/a but a doctrine of 
phenomena— phenomena regarded not only in their physical but 
also in their psychological aspect. Unifying these two diverse 
aspects, it contends that the conscious organism is one and indi- 
visible ; that it is a product of evolution ; that in its physical or ma- 
terial aspect this evolution has given rise to the body and brain ; 
that in its psychical or imniateriaJ aspect it has given rise to the 
mind and human consciousness ; that these two aspects, though dis- 
tinguishable in analytic thought, art^ inscparabit" in phenomenal ex- 
istence ; that just as the complex modes of energy of the human 
brain have been evolved from the simpler modes of energy that are 
found throughout organic and inorganic nature, so too the complex 
modes of consciousness of the human mind have been evolved from 
the simpler modes of infra-consciousuess* that are associated with 
merely organic and inorganic modes of energy. The last clause is 
admittedly hypothetical. But it is submitted that the hypothesis is 
one that is founded on strictly scientific and in no sense metaphysi- 
cal or autic analysis* 

C. Lluvi* Morgan. 

♦See Mmiai Et*piHliott \n ikeMimtst, VoL II, No 2 (Jan i8<)2), p 161 



PHILOSOPHY, when just escaping from its goklen popa-skin, 
niytliology, proclainied the great evolutionary agency of the 
universe to be Love. Or. since this pirate-Hngo, EngHsh, Is poor 
in such-like words, let us say Eros, the exuberance-love. Afterwards, 
Empedocles set up passionate-love and hate as the two codrdinate 
powers of the universe. In some passages, kindness is the word. 
But certainly, in any sense in which it has an opposite, to be senior 
partner of that opposite, is the highest position that love can attain. 
Nevertheless, the ontological gospeller, in whose days those views 
were familiar topics, made the One Supreme Beings by whom all , 
things have been made out of nothing, to b^ cherishing-love. What, 
then, can he say to hate? Never mind, at this time, what the scribe 
of the apocalypse, if he were John, stung at length by persecution 
into a rage unable to distinguish suggestions of evil from visions of 
heaven, and so become the Slanderer of God to men» may have 
dreamed. The question is rather what the sane John thought, or 
ought to have thought, in order to carry out his idea consistently. 
His statement that God is love seems aimed at that saying of Ec- 
clesiastes that we cannot tell whether God bears us love or hatred. 
"Nay," says John, '*we can tell, and very simply! We know and 
have trusted the love which God hath in us. God is love.*' There is 
no logic in this, unless it means that God loves all men. In the pre- 
ceding paragraph, he had said, ''God is light and in him is no dark- 
ness at alL" We are to understand, then, that as darkness is merely 
the defect of light, so hatred and evil are mere imperfect stages of 




ay ant) and ayaBov^ love and lo%'^eliness. This concords with that 
utterance reported in John^s Gospel : **God sent not the Son into 
the world to judge the world ; hut that the world should through 
him be saved. He that helieveth on him is not judged : he that be- 
lieveth not hath been judged already. . . And this is the judgment, 
that the light is come into the world, and that men loved darkness 
rather than the light/' That is to sav% God visits no punishment on 
them J they punish themselves, by their natural affinity for the de- 
fective. Thus, the love that God is. js not a love of which hatred is 
the contrary; otherwise Satan would be a coordinate power; but it is 
a love which embraces hatred as an imperfect stage of it, an Anteros — 
yea, even needs hatred and hatefulness as its object. For self-love is 
no love; so if God's self is love, that which he loves must be defect 
of love ; just as a luminary can light up only that which otherwise 
would be dark. Henry James, the Swedenborgi^n, says : **It is no 
doubt very tolerable finite or creaturely love to love one's own in 
another, to love another for his conformity to one's self : but nothing 
can be in more flagrant contrast with the creative Love, all whose 
tenderness fx vifcrmhiimw^X be reserved only for what intrinsicaliy 
is most bitterly hostile and negative to itself/' This is horn ''Sub- 
stance and Shadow : an Essay on the Physics of Creation/* It is a 
pity he had not filled his pages with things like this, as he was able 
easily to do, insteatl of scolding at his reader and at people gene- 
rally, until the physics of creation was wellnigh forgot. I must de- 
duct, however, from what I just wrote : obviously no genius could 
make his every sentence as sublime as one which discloses for the 
problem of evil its everlasting solution. 

The movement of love is circular, at one and the same impulse 
projecting creations into independency and drawing them into har- 
mony. This seems complicated when stated so; but it is fully 
summed up In the simple formula we call the Golden Rule. This 
does not, of course, say^ Do everything possible 10 gratify tlie ego- 
istic impulses of others, but it says, Sacrifice your own perfection to 
the perfectionment of your neighbor. Nor must it for a moment be 
confounded with the Benthamite, or Helvetian, or Beccarian motto, 
Act for the greatest good of the greatest number. Love is not di- 


THK Mt^NlSr 

rected to abstractions but to persons; not to persons we do not 
know, nor to numbers of people, but to our own dear ones, our 
family and neighbors, "Our neighbor/* we remember, is one whom 
we live near, not locally perhaps, but in life and feeling. 

Everybody can see that the statement of St. John is the formula 
of an evolutionary philosop>hy, which teaches that growth comes 
only from love, from — I will not say seU-stJcnyitr, but from the ardent 
impulse to fulfil anotlier's highest impulse. Suppose, for example, 
that I have an idea that interests me. It is my creation. It is my 
creature ; for as shown in last July's Afanist^ it is a little person. I 
love it ; and I will sink myself in perfecting it. It is not by dealing 
out cold justice to the circle of my ideas that I can make them grow, 
but by cherishing and tending them as I would the flowers in my 
garden. The philosophy we draw from John's gospel is that this is 
the way mind develops : and as for the cosmos, only so far as it yet 
is mindj and so has life, is it capable of further evolution. Love, 
recognising germs of loveliness in the hatefuh gradually warms it 
into life, and makes it lovely. That is the sort of evolution which 
every careful student of my essay **The Law of Mind/' must see 
that sv/fn/tism calls for. 

The nineteenth century is now fast "sinking into the grave, and 
we all begin to review its doings and to think what character it is 
destined to bear as com{nired with other centuries in tlie minds of 
future historians. It will be called, I guess, the Economical Cen- 
tury ; for political economy has more direct relations with all the 
branches of its activity than has any other science- Well^ political 
economy has its formula of redemption* too. It is this: Intelligence 
in the service of greed ensures the justest prices, the fairest contracts, 
the most enlightened conduct of all the dealings between meUj and 
leads to the sammNm boiuan, food in plenty and perfect comfort. 
Food for whom ? Why, for t!ie greedy master of intelligence. I do 
not mean to say that this is one of the legitimate conclusions of 
political economy, the scientific character of which 1 fully acknowl- 
edge. But the study of doctrines, themselves true, will often tempo- 
rarily encourage generalisations extremely false, as the study of 
physics has encouraged necessitarianism. What I say, then, is that 





the great attention paid to ecoiioinical questions during our century 
has induced an exaggeration of tlie beneficial effects of greed and of 
tbtr unfortunate results of sentiment, until there has resulted a phi- 
losophy which comes unwittingly to this, that greed is the g:reat 
agent in the elevation of the human race and in the evolution of the 

I open a handbook of political economy, — the most typical and 
middling one I have at hand, — and there find some remarks of which 
I will here make a brief analysis. I omit qnaliftcations, sops thrown 
to Cerberus, phrases to placate Cliristian prejudice, trappings which 
serve to hide from author and reader alike the ugly nakedness of the 
greed'god. But I have surveyed my posit if)n. The author enumer- 
ates *• three motives to hmnan action: 

The love of self; 

The love of a limited class having common interests and feelings 
with one's self ; 

The love of mankind at large/* 

Remark, at the outset, what obsequious title is bestowed on 
greed, — ^*'lhe love of self/' Love ! The second motive rs love. In 
place of **a limited class" put ** certain persons," and you have a 
fair description. Taking ** class'' in the old-fashioned sense, a weak 
kind of love is described. In the sequel, there seems to be some 
haziness as to the delimitation of this motive. By the love of man- 
kind at large, the author does not mean that deep, subconscious 
passion that is properly so called ; but merely public-spirit, perhaps 
little more than a fidget about pushing ideas. The author proceeds 
to a comparati%'e estimate of the worth of these motives. Greed, 
says he, but using, of course, another word, '*is not so great an evil 
as is commonly supposed . . . Every man can promote his own in- 
terests a great deal more effectively than he can promote any one 
else's, or than any one else can promote his." Besides, as he remarks 
on another page, the more miserly a man is, tlie more good he does. 
The second motive **is the most dangerous one to which society is 
exposed." Love is all very pretty: **no higlier or purer source of 
human happiness exists/' (Ahem l) But it is a "source of enduring 


ruK ^toMI?;T, 

injury," and, in short, should be overruled by sonielhing wiser. 
What is this wiser motive ? We shall see. 

As for public spirit* it is rendered nugatory by the ** difficulties 
in the way of its effective operation/' For example, it might suggest 
putting checks upon the fecundity of the poor and the vicious; and 
**no measure of repression would be loo severe/' in the case of 
criminals. The hint is broad. But unfortunately, you cannot induce 
legislatures to take such measures, owing to the pestiferous *' tender 
sentiments of man towards man/' It thus appears* that public- 
spirit, or Benthamism, is not strong enough to be the effective tutor 
of love, (I am skipping to another page/) %vhich must therefore be 
handed over to '*the motives which animate men in the pursuit of 
wealth/' in which alone we can confide, and which **are in the 
highest degree beneficent."* Yes, in the ** highest degree" without 
exception are they beneficent to the being upon whom all tlieir 
blessings are poured out, namely, the Self, whose 'Vsole object/* 
says the %vriter in accumulating wealth is his individual '* sustenance 
and enjoyinent/' Plainly, the author holds the notion that some 
other motive might be in a higher degree beneficent even for the 
man's self to be a paradox wanting in good sense. He seeks to gloze 
and modify his doctrine ; but he lets the perspicacious reader see 
what his animating principle is ; and when, holding the opinions I 
have repeated, he at the same time acknowledges that society could 
not exist upon a basis of intelligent greed alone, he simply pigeon- 
holes himself as one of the eclectics of inharmonious opinions. He 
wants his mammon flavored with a so^ptyn of god. 

The economists accuse those to whom the enunciation of their 
atrocious villainies cotnmunicates a ihriU of horror of being sm/i- 
mrN/it//s/s, It may be so : I willingly confess to having some tinc- 
ture of sentimentalism in me, God be thanked! Eversince the French 
Revolution brought this leaning of thought into ill-repute,— and not 
altogether undeser\'edly, I must admit, true, beautiful, and good as 

* How can a writer have any respect for science, as such, who is capable of 
confounding with the scientific propositions of pt>litical economy, which havtf noth- 
ing to say concerning what is " beiDeficent." such l>nimmngt-m generalisations as 



that great movement was, — it has been the tradition to picture sen- 
timentalists as persons incapable of logical thought and unwilling to 
look facts in the eyes. This tradition may be classed with the French 
tradition that an Englishman says godam at every second sentence, 
the English tradition that an American talks about ''Britishers," 
and the American tradition tliat a Frenchman carries forms of eti- 
quette to an inconvenient extreme, in short with all those traditions 
which survive simply because the men who use their eyes and ears 
are few and far between. Doubtless some excuse there was for all 
those opinions in days gone by ; and sentimentahsm, when it was 
the fashionable amusement to spend one's evenings in a flood of tears 
over a woeful performance on a candle-Iitten stage, sometimes made 
itself a little ridiculous. But what after all is sentimentahsm ? It 
is an ism, a doctrine, namely, the doctrine that great respect should 
be paid to the natural judgments of the sensible heart. This is what 
sentimentalism precisely is ; and I entreat the reader to consider 
whether to contemn it is not of all blasphemies the most degrading. 
Yet the nineteenth century has steadily contemned it, because it 
brought about the Reign of Terror. That it did so is true. Still, 
the whole question is one of hoii' much. The reign of terror was 
very bad ; but now the Gradgrind banner has been this century 
long flaunting in the face of heaven, with an insolence to provoke 
the very skies to scowl and rumble. Soon a flash and quick peal 
will shake economists quite out of their complacency, too late. The 
twentieth century, in its latter half, shall surely see the deluge- tem- 
pest burst upon the social order, — to clear upon a world as deep in 
ruin as that greed-philosophy has long plunged it into guilt. No 
post* therm idorian higli jinks then ! 

So a miser is a beneficent power in a community, is he? With 
the same reason precisely, only in a much higher degree, you might 
pronounce the Wall Street sharp to be a good angel, who takes 
money from heedless persons not likely to guard it properly, who 
wrecks feeble enterprises better stopped, and who administers whole- 
some lessons to unwary scientific men, by passing worthless checks 
upon them, — as yon did, the other day, to me, my millionaire 
Master in glomery, when you thought you saw your way to using 

I 82 


my process without paying for it, and oi so bequeathing to your 
children something to boast of their father about, — and who by a 
thousand wiles puts money at the service of intehigent greed, in his 
own person. Bernard Mandeville, in his '* Fable of the Bees," main- 
tains that private vices of all descriptions are public benefits, and 
proves it^ too, quite as cogently as the economist proves his point 
concerning the miser. He even argues, with no slight force^ that 
but for vice civilisation would never have existed. In the same 
spirit, it has been strongly maintained and is to-day widely believed 
that all acts of chanty and benevolence, private and public, go seri- 
ously to degrade the human race. 

The ** Origin of Species " of Darwin merely extends politico- 
economical views of progress to the entire realm of animal and vege- 
table life- The vast majority of our contemporary naturalists hold 
the opinion that the true cause oi those exquisite and marvellous 
adaptations of nature for which, when I was a boy. men used to extol 
the divine wisdom is that creatures are so crowded together that 
those of them that happen to liave the slightest advantage force those 
less pushing into situations unfavorable to multiplication or even kill 
theiii before they reach the age of reproduction. Among animals, 
the mere mechanical individualism is vastly reenforced as a power 
making for good by the animal's ruthless greed. As Darwin puts 
it on his title-page, it is the struggle for existence ; and he should 
have added for his motto : Every individual for himself, and the 
Devil take the hindmost ! Jesus, in his sermon on the Mount, ex- 
pressed a different opinion. 

Here, then, is the issue. The gospel of Christ says that pro- 
gress comes from every individual merging his individuality in sn m- 
pathy with his neighbors. On the other side, the conviction of the 
nineteenth century is that progress takes place by virtue of every 
individual's striving for himself with all his might and trampling his 
neighbor under foot whenever he gets a chance to do so. This may 
accurately be called the Gospel of Greed. 

Much is to be said on both sides. I have not concealed, I could 
not conceal, my own passionate predilection* Such a confession 
will probably shock my scientific brethren. Yet the strong feeling 




is in itself, 1 think, an argument of some weight in favor of the aga- 
pastic theory of evolution, — -so far as it may be presumed to bespeak 
the normal judgment of the Sensible Heart, CurtainlVr if it were 
possible to believe in agapasm without believing it warmly, that fact 
would be an argument against the truth of the doctrine. At any 
rate, since the warmth of feeling exists, it should on every account 
be candidly confessed ; especially since it creates a liability to one* 
sidedness on my part against which it behooves my readers and me 
to he severally on our guard. 



Let us try to define the logical affinities of the different theories 
of evolution. Natural selection, as conceived by Darwin^ is a mode 
of evolution in w^hich the only positive agent of change in the w^hole 
passage from moner to man is fortuitous variation. To secure ad- 
vance in a definite direction chance has to be seconded by some ac- 
tion that shall hinder the propagation of some varieties or stimulate 
that of others. In natural selection, strictly so called, it is the crowd- 
ing out of the weak. In sexual selection, it is the attraction of beauty, 

The ** Origin of Species" was published toward the end of the 
year 1859. The preceding years since 1846 had been one of the most 
productive seasons, — or if extended so as to cover the great book 
we are considering, //u- most productive period of equal length in 
the entire history of science from its beginnings until now. The idea 
that chance begets order, which is one of the comer- stones of mod- 
ern physics (although Dr, Cams considers it ''the weakest point in 
Mr, Pdrce's system/*) was at that time put into its clearest light. 
Quetelet had opened the discussion by his '* Letters on the Appli- 
cation of Probabilities to the Moral and Political Sciences," a work 
which deeply impressed the best minds of that day, and to which Sir 
Jr»hn Herschel had drawn general attention in Great Britain, In 
1857, the first volume of Buckle's ** History of Civilisation*' had 
created a tremendous sensation, owing to the use he made of this 
same idea. Meantime, the "statistical method " had, under that very 
name, been applied with brilliant success to molecular physics, Dr, 


John Herapatli, an English chemist^ had in 1847 outlined thekinet- 
ical theor>^ of gases in his ** Mathematical Physics"; and the interest 
the theory excited had been refreshed in 1856 by notable memoirs 
by Clausius and Krcjnig. In the very summer preceding Darwin's 
publication, Maxwell had read before the British Association the 
first and most important of his researches on this subject. The con- 
sequence was that the idea that fortuitous events may result in a 
physical law, and further that this is the way in which those laws 
whicli appear to conflict with the principle of the conservation of 
energy are to he explained, had taken a strong hold upon the minds 
of all who were abreast of the leaders of thought. By such minds, 
it was inevitable that the '* Origin of Species/' whose teaching was 
simply the application of the same principle to the explanation of an- 
other ' ' non-conservative " action, that of organic development, should 
be hailed and welcomed. The sublime discovery of the conserx^a- 
tion of energy by Helmholtz in 1847, and that of the mechanical the- 
ory of heat by Clausius and l>y Rankine, independently, in 1850, had 
decidedly overawed all those who might have been inclined to sneer 
at physical science. Thereafter a belated poet still harping upon 
** science peddling with the names of things " would fail of his effect. 
Mechanism was now known to be alL or yery nearly so. All this 
time, utilitarianism, -^that improved substitute for tlie Gospel, — was 
in its fullest feather ; and was a natural ally of an individualistic 
theory. Dean Mansell's injudicious advocacy had led to mutiny 
among the bondsmen of Sir William Hamilton, and the nominalism 
of Mill had profited accordingly ; and although the real science that 
Darwin was leading men to was sure some day to give a death-blow 
to the sham -science of Mill, yet there were several elements of the 
Darwinian theory which were sure to charm the followers of Milh 
Another thing : anaesthetics had been in use for thirteen years. Ah 
ready, people's acquaintance with suffering had dropped off very 
much ; and as a consequence, that unlovely hardness by which our 
times are so contrasted with those that immediately preceded them, 
had already set in, and inclined people to relish a ruthless theor). 
The reader would quite mistake the drift of what I am saying if he 
were to understand me as wishing to suggest that any of those things 




(except perhaps Mahluis) infltienced Darwin himself. What I mean 
is that his hypothesis, while without dispute one of the most ingen- 
ious and pretty ever devised, and while argued with a wealth of 
knowledge, a strength of logic, a charm of rhetoric, and above all 
with a certain magnetic genuineness that was almost irresistible, 
did not appear, at ftrst, at all near to being proved ; and to a sober 
mind its case looks less hopeful now than it did twenty years ago ; 
but the extraordinarily favorable receplion it met with was plainly 
owing, in large measure, to its ideas being those toward which the 
age was favorably disposed, especially, because of the encouragement 
it gave to the greed -philosopliy. 

Diametrically opposed to evolution by chance, are those the- 
ories which attribute all progress to an inw'ard neoessary principle, 
or other form of necessity, Man} naturalists have thought that it 
an egg is destined to go through a certain series of embryological 
transformations, from which it is perfectly certain not to deviate, 
and if in geological time almost exactly the same forms appear suc- 
cessively, one replacing another in the same order, the strong pre 
sumption is that this latter succession w*as as predeterminate and 
certain to take place as the former: So, Nageli, for instance, con- 
ceives that it somehow foUow's from the first law of motion and the 
peculiar, but unknown, molecular constitution of protoplasm, that 
forms must complicate theuiselves more and more. Kolliker makes 
one form generate another after a certain maturation has been ac- 
complished, Weismann, too, though he calls himself a Darwinian, 
holds that nothing is due to chance, but that all forms are simple 
mechanical resultants of the heredity from two parents.* It is very 
noticeable that all these different sectaries seek to import into their 
science a mechanical necessity to which the facts that come under 
their observation do not point. Those geologists who think that the 
variation of species is due to cataclasmic alterations of climate or of 
the chemical constitution of the air and water are also making me, 
chanical necessity chief factor of evolution. 

* I am happy to find that Dr. Cams, too. ranks Weismann among the opponents 
of Darwin, notwithstandiog his Bying that flag. 



Evolution by sporting and evolution by mechanical necessity 
are conceptions warring against oneanotber. A tbird metbod. whicb 
supersedes ibeir strife, lies enwrapped In the theory of Lamarck. 
According to bis view, aH that distinguisbes the bigbest organic fornis 
from the most rudimentary lias been brought about In little b}'per- 
trophies or atrophies which have affected individuals early in their 
lives, and have been transmitted to their offspring. Such a trans- 
mission of acquired characters is of the general nature of habit-tak- 
ing, and this is the representative and derivative within the physio- 
logical domain of the law of mind. Its action is essentially dissimilar 
to that of a physical force ; and that is the secret of the repngnance 
of such necessitarians as Weismann to admitting its existence. The 
Lamarck ians further suppose that although some of the modifications 
of form so transmitted were originally due to mechanical causes, yet 
the chief factors of their first production were the straining of en- 
deavor and the overgrowth superinduced l)y exercise, together w^ith 
the opposite actions. Now, endeavor, since it is directed toward an 
end, is essentially psychical, even though it be sometimes uncon- 
scious ; and the growth due to exercise, as I argued in my last pa- 
per, follows a law of a character quite contrary to that of mechanics. 

Lamarckian evolution is thus evolution by the force of habit.— 
That sentence slipped off my pen while one of those neighbors whose 
function in the social cosmos seems to be that of an Interrupter, was 
asking me a question. Of course, it is nonsense. Habit is mere in- 
ertia, a resting on one^s oars, not a propulsion. Now it is energetic 
projaculation (lucky there is such a word, or this untried hand might 
have been put to inventing one) by which in the typical instances of 
Lamarckian evolution the new elements of form are first created. 
Habit, however, forces them to take practical shapes, compatible 
with the structures they affect, and in the form of heredity and other- 
wise, gradually replaces the spontaneous energy that sustains them. 
Thus, habit plays a double part ; it serves to establish the new fea- 
tures, and also to bring them into harmonv with the general mor- 
phology and function of the animals and plants to which they belong. 
But if the reader will now kindly give himself the trouble of turning 
back a page or two, he will see that this account of Lamarckian evo- 



lution coincides with the general description of the action of love, 
to which, I suppose, he yielded his assent. 

Remembering that all matter is really mind, remembering, too, 
the continuity of mind, let us ask what aspect Lamarckian evolution 
takes on within the domain of consciousness. Direct endeavor can 
achieve almost nothing. It is as easy by taking thought to add a 
cubit to one's stature, as it is to produce an idea acceptable to any 
^of the Muses by merely straining for it, before it is ready to come. 
/e haunt in vain the sacred well and throne of Mnemosyne ; the 
deeper workings of the spirit take place in their own slow way, with- 
out our connivance. Let but their bugle sound, and we may then 
make our effort, sure of an oblation for the altar of whatsoever di- 
vinity its savor gratifies. Besides this inward process, there is the 
f)peration of the environment, which goes to break up habits des- 
tined to be broken up and so to render the mind lively. Everybody 
knows that the long continuance of a routine of habit makes us leth- 
argic, while a succession of surprises wonderfully brightens the 
ideas. Where there is a motion, where history is a-making, there 
is the focus of mental activity, and it lias been said that the arts and 
sciences reside within the temple of Janus, waking when that is 
open, but slumbering when it is closed. Few psychologists have 
perceived how fundamental a fact this is. A portion of mind abun- 
dantly commissured to other portions works almost mechanically. 
It sinks to the condition of a railway junction. But a portion of mind 
almost isolated, a spiritual peninsula, or rn/'de-siu^ is like a rail w a}' 
terminus. Now mental commissures are habits. Where they abound, 
originality is not needed and is not found ; but where they are in 
defect, spontaneity is set free. Tims, the first step in the Lamarck- 
ian evolution of mind is the putting of sundry thoughts into situa- 
tions in which they are free to play. As to growth by exercise, I 
have already shown, in discussing ** Man's Glassy Essence,*' in last 
October's Mottist^ what its moiins optrafuii must be conceived to be* 
at least, until a second equally definite hypothesis shall have been 
offered. Namely, it consists of the flying asunder of molecules, and 
the reparation of the parts by new matter. It is, thus, a sort of re- 
production. It takes place only during exercise, because the activ- 



ity of protoplasm consists in the molecular disturbance which is its 
necessary condition. Growth by exercise takes place also in the 
mind. Indeed, that is what it is to ifarn. But the most perfect il- 
lustration is the development ol a philosophical idea by being put 
into practice. The conception which appeared, at first, as unitar} , 
splits up into special cases ; and into each of these new thought 
must enter to make a practicable idea. This new thought, however, 
follows pretty closely tlie model of the parent conception ; and thus 
a homogeneous development takes place. The parallel between this 
and the course of molecular occurrences is apparent. Patient at- 
tention will be able to trace all these elements in the transaction 
called learning. 

Three modes of evolution have thus been brought before us ; 
evolution by fortuitous variation, evolution by mechanical necessity, 
and evolution by creative love. We may term them tychasiic evolu- 
tion, or ivi/utsmy anamasfii' evolution, or anattcasm, and agapas/ic 
evolution, or agapasm. The doctrines w hich represent these as sev- 
erall}' of principal importance, we may term iythnsfhtsm, anancas* 
iidsm^ and agapasiicism. On the other hand the mere propositions 
that absolute chance, mechanical necessity, and the law of love, are 
severally operative in the cosmos, may receive the names of tyfJusm^ 
anancism^ and a papism. 

All three modes of evolution are composed of the same general 
elements. Agapasm exhibits them the most clearly. The good re- 
sult is here brought to pass, first, by the bestow^al of spontaneous 
energy by the parent upon the offspring, and, second^ by the dispo- 
sition of the latter to catch the general idea of those about it and 
thus to subserve the general purpose. In order to express the rela- 
tion that ly chasm and anancasm bear to agapasm, let me borrow 
a word from geometry. An ellipse crossed by a straight line is a 
sort of cubic curve ; for a cubic is a curve which is cut thrice by a 
straight line ; now a straight line might cut the ellipse twice and its 
associated straight line a third time. Still the ellipse with the straight 
line across it would not have the characteristics of a cubic. It would 
have, for instance, no contrary flexure, w^hich no true cubic wants; 
and it would have two nodes, which no true cubic has. The geom- 



eters say that it is a tifgtntrair cubic. Just so, ty chasm and anan- 
casm are degenerate forms of agapasm. 

Men who seek to reconcile the Darwinian idea with Christianity 
will remark that tychastic evolution, Hke the agapastic» depends 
upon a reproductive creation, the forms preserved being those that 
use the spontaneity conferred upon tliem in such wise as to be drawn 
into harmony with their original, quite after ilie Cliristian scheme. 
Very good ! This only shows that just as love cannot have a con- 
trary, but must embrace what is most opposed to it, as a degenerate 
case of itt so tychasni is a kind of agap)asm. Only, in the tychastic 
evolution progress is solely owing to the distribution of the napkin - 
hidden talent of the rejected servant among those not rejected, just 
as ruined gamesters leave their money on the table to make those 
not yet ruined so much the richer. It makes the felicity of the 
lambs just the damnation of the goats, transposed to the other side 
of the equation. In genuine agapasm, on the other hand, advance 
takes place by virtue of a positive sympathy among the created 
springing from continuity of mind. This is the idea which tychas- 
ticism knows not how to manage. 

The anancasticist might here interpose, claiming tliat the mode 
of evolution for which he contends agrees with agapasm at the point 
at which tychasm departs from it. Fur it makes development go 
through certain phases, having its inevitable ebbs and Hows, yet 
tending on the whole to a foreordained perfection. Bare existence 
by this its destiny betrays an intrinsic affinity for the good. Herein, 
it must be admitted, anancasm shows itself to he in a broad accep- 
lion a species of agapasm. Some forms of it might easily be mis- 
taken for the genuine agapasm. The Hegelian philosophy is such 
an anancasticism. With its revelatory religion, with its synechism 
(however imperfectly set forth ), with its *' reflection," the whole idea 
of the theory is superb, almost sublime. Yet, after all, living free- 
dom is practically omitted from its method. The whole movement 
is that of a vast engine, impelled by a vis a ttrgo, with a blind and 
mysterious fate of arriving at a lofty goal, I mean that such an 
engine it luould be, if it really worked ; but in point of fact, it is a 
Keely motor. Grant that it really acts as it professes to act, and 



there is nothmg to do but accept the philosophy- But never was 
there seen such an example of a long chain of reasoning, — shall I 
say with a flaw in every link?-- -no, with every link a handful of sand, 
squeezed into shape in a dream. Or say, it is a pasteboard model 
of a philosophy that in reality does not exist* If we use the one 
precious thing it contain*^, the idea of it, introducing the tychism 
which the arbitrariness of its every step suggests, and make that the 
support of a vital freedom which Is the breath of the spirit of love, 
we may be able to produce that genuine agapasticism, at which 
Hegel was aiming. 


In the very nature of things, the line of demarcation between 
the three modes of evolution is not perfectly sharp. That does not 
prevent its being quite real : perhaps it is rather a mark of its real- 
ity. There is in the nature of things no sharp line of demarcation 
between the three fundamental colors, red, green » and violet. But 
for all that they are really different. The main question is whether 
three radically different evolutionary elements have been operative; 
and the second question is what are the most striking characteristics 
of whatever elements have been operative. 

I propose to devote a few pages to a very slight examination of 
these questions in their relation to the historical development of hu- 
man thouglu. 1 first formiiiate for the reader's convenience the 
briefest possible definitions of the three conceivable modes of devel- 
opment of thought, distinguishing also two varieties of anancasni 
and three of agapasm. The tychastic development of thought, then, 
will consist in slight departures from habitual ideas in different di- 
rections indifferently, quite purposeless and quite unconstrained 
whether by outward circumstances or by force of logic, these new 
departures being followed by unforeseen results which tend to hx 
some of them as habits more than others. The anancastic develop- 
ment of thought will consist of new ideas adopted without foreseeing 
whither they tend, but having a character determined by causes 
either external to the mind, such as changed circumstances of life, 
or internal to the mind as logical developments cjf ideas already ac- 






cepted, such as generalisations. The agapastic development of 
thought is the adoption of certain mental tendencies, not altogether 
heedlessly, as in tychasni, nor quite blindly by the mere force of 
circumstances or of logic, as in anancasm, but by an immediate at- 
traction for the idea itself, whose nature is divined before the mind 
possesses it, by the power of sympathy, that is, b) virtue of the con- 
tinuity of mind ; and tliis mental tendency may he of three varieties, 
as follows. First, it may affect a whole people or community in its 
collective personality, and he thence communicated to such individ- 
uals as are in powerfully sympathetic connection with the collective 
people, although they may be intellectually incapable of attaining 
the idea by their private understandings or even perhaps of con- 
sciously apprehending it. Second, it may affect a private person 
directly, yet so that he is only enabled to apprehend the idea, or to 
appreciate its attractiveness, by virtue of his sympathy with his 
neighbors, under the influence of a striking experience or develop- 
ment of thought. The conversion of St. Paul may be taken as an 
example of what is meant. Third, it may affect an individual, inde- 
pendently of his human affections, by virtue of an attraction it exer- 
cises upon his mind, even before he has comprehended it. This is 
the phenomenon which has been well called the tfivimithn of genius; 
for it is due to the continuity between the man's mind and the Most 

Let us next consider by means of what tests we can discrimi- 
nate between these different categories of evolution. No absolute 
criterion is possible in the nature of things, since in the nature of 
things there is no sharp line of demarcation between the different 
classes. Nevertheless, rpiantitative symptoms may be found by 
which a sagacious and sympathetic judge of human nature ma\^ be 
able to estimate tlie approximate proportions in which the <lifferent 
kinds of influence are commingled. 

So far as the historical evolution of human thought has been 
tychastic, it should have proceeded by insensible or minute steps; 
for such is the nature of chances when so multiplied as to show 
phenomena of regularity. For example, assume that of the native- 
bom white adult males of the I'nited States in 1880, one fourth part 



216 under 4 feet 6 inches, 
48 " 4 *' 5 " 
9 " 4 ' 4 
less than 2 " 4 ' j 

were below 5 feet 4 inches in stature and one fourth part above 5 
feet 8 inches. Then by the principles of probability, among the 
whole population, %ve should expect 

216 abov^e 6 feet 6 inches. 
48 - 6 ' 7 " 
g •• 6 ** S 
less than 2 " 6 '* g 

I set down these figures to show how insignificantly few are the 
cases in which anything very far out of the common run presents 
itself by chance. Though the stature of only every second man is 
included within the four inches between 5 feet 4 inches and 5 feet 8 
inches, yet if this interval be extended by thrice four inches above 
and below^ it will embrace all our 8 milhons odd of native-born 
adult white males (of 1880 ), except only y taller and 9 shorter. 

The test of minute variation, if m^l satisfied, absolutely negatives 
tychasm. If it is satisfied, we shall find that it negatives anancasm 
hut not agapasm. We want a positive test, satisfied by tychasm» 
only. Now wherever we find men*s thought taking by imperceptible 
degrees a turn contrary to the purposes which animate them, in spite 
of their highest impulses, there, we may safely conclude, there has 
been a tychastic action. 

Sttidents of the history of mind tiiere be of an erudition to fill 
an imperfect scholar like me with envy edulcorated by jo3^ous adjiii- 
ration, who maintain that ideas wlien just started are and can b€ 
little more than freaks, since they cannot yet have been critically 
examined, and further that everywhere and at all times progress has 
been so gradual that it is dillicult to make out distinctly what orig- 
inal step any given man has taken. It would follow that tychasr 
has been the sole method of intellectual development. I have to con- 
fess I cannot read history so ; I cannot help thinking that while ty- 
chasm has sometimes been operative, at others great steps covering 
nearly the same ground and made by different men independently, 
have been mistaken for a succession of small steps, and further that 
students have been reluctant to admit a real entitative *^ spirit'* of 
an age or of a people, under the mistaken and un scrutinised impres- 
sion that they should thus he oi>ening the door to wild and unnntural , 





hypotheses. I find, on the contrar\% that, however it may be with 
the education of individual minds, the historical development of 
thought has seldom heen of a tychastic nature, and exclusively in 
backward and barbarising movements, I desire to speak with the 
extreme modesty which befits a student of logic who is required to 
survey so ver}' wide a field of human thought that he can cover it 
only by a reconnaisance, to which only the greatest skill and most 
adroit methods can impart any value at ail ; but, after all, I can 
only express my own opinions and not those of anybody else; and 
in my humble judgment, the largest example of ty chasm is afforded 
by the history of Christian ity^ from about its establishment by Con- 
stantine, to, say, the time the of Irish monasteries, an era or eon of 
about 500 years. Undoubtedly the external circumstance which 
more than all others at first inclined men to accept Christianity in 
its loveliness and tenderness, was the fearful extent to which society 
was broken up into units by the unmitigated greed and hard-hearted - 
ness into which the Romans had seduced the world, Andj'et it was 
that very same fact, more than any other external circumstance, that 
fostered that bitterness against the wicked world of which the prim- 
itive Gospel of Mark contains not a single trace. At least, I do not 
detect it in the remark about the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, 
where nothing is said about vengeance, nor even in that speech 
where the closing lines of Isaiah are quoted, about the worm and 
the fire that feed upon the ** carcasses of the men that have trans- 
gressed against me/' But little by little the bitterness increases 
until in the last book of the New Testament, its poor distracted 
author represents that all the time Christ was talking about having 
come to save the world, the secret design was to catch the entire 
human race, with the exception of a paltry 144000, and souse them 
all in brimstone lake, and as the smoke of their torment went up for 
ever and ever, to turn and remark, ** There is no curse any more." 
Would it be an insensible smirk or a fiendish grin that should ac- 
company such an utterance? I wish 1 could believe St. John did not 
write it; but it is his gospel which tells about the "resurrection 
unto condemnation/* — that is of men's being resuscitated just for 
the sake of torturing them ;^and, at any rate, the Revelation is a 



very ancient composition. One can understand that the early Chris- 
tians were like men trying with ail their might to chmb a steep de- 
clivity of smooth wet clay ; the deepest and tniest element of their 
life, animating hoth heart and head, was universal love; but they 
were continually, and against their wills, slipping into a party spirit, 
every shp serving as a precedent, in a fashion but too familiar to 
ever>^ man. This party feeling insensibly grew until by about a. n. 
330 the lustre of the pristine integrity that in St. Mark reflects the 
white spirit of Hght was so far tarnished that Eusebius, fthe Jared 
Sparks of that day,) in the preface to his History, could announce 
his intention of exaggerating everything that tended to the glor^^ of 
the church and of suppressing whatever miglvt disgrace it. His 
Latin contemporary Lactantius is worse, still ; and so the darkling 
went on increasing until before the end of the centur}' the great li- 
brary of Alexandria was destroyed by Theophilus,* until Gregory 
the Great, two centuries later, burnt the great library of Rome, pro- 
claiming that '* Ignorance is the mother of devotion," (\vhich is true, 
just as oppression and injustice is tlie mother of spirituality,) until ay 
sober description of the state of the church would be a thing our not 
too nice newspapers would treat as *Minfit for publication/' All 
this movement is shown by the application of the test given above 
to have been tychastic. Another very much like it on a small scale, 
only a hundred times swifter, for the study of which there are docu- 
ments by the library-full, is to be found in the history of the French 

Anancastic evolution advances by successive strides with pauses 
between. The reason is that in this process a habit of thought hav- 
ing been overthrown is supplanted by the next strongest. Now this 
next strongest is sure to be widely disparate from the first, and as 
often as not is its direct contrary. It reminds one of our old rule 
of making the second candidate vice-president. This character^ 
therefore, clearly distinguishes anancasm from tychasm. The char- ■ 
acter which distinguishes it from agapasm is its purposclessness. 
But external and internal anancasm have to be examined separately. 

* See Drnf/r*s //tsUny of InttlUctmjl Dtvthpnwnt^ chap, x. 




Development under the pressure of external circumstances, or cata* 
clasmme evolution, is in most cases unmistakable enough. It has 
numberless degrees of intensity, from the brute force, the plain war, 
which has more than once turned tlie current of the world*s thought, 
down to the hard fact of evidence^ or what has been taken for it, 
which has been known to convince men by hordes. The only hesi- 
tation that can subsist in the presence of such a history is a quanti- 
tative one. Never are external influences the only ones which affect 
the mind, and therefore it must be a matter of judgment for which 
it would scarcely be worth while to attempt to set rules, whether a 
given movement is to be regarded as principally governed from with- 
out or not. Id tlie rise of medieval thought, I mean scholasticism 
and the synchronistic art developments, undoubtedly the crusades 
and the discovery of the writings of Aristotle were powerful in* 
fluences. The development of scholasticism from Roscellin to AI- 
bertus Magnus closely follows the successive steps in the knowledge 
of Aristotle. PrantI thinks that that is the whole stores and few men 
have thumbed more books than Carl Prantl. He has done good solid 
w^ork, notwithstanding his slap-dash judgments. But we shall never 
make so much as a good beginning of comprehending scholasticism 
until the whole has been systematically explored and digested by a 
company of students regularly organised and held under rule for that 
purpose. But as for the period we are now specially considering, 
' that which synchronised the Romanesque architecture, the literature 

is easily mastered. It does not quite justify PrantPs dicta as to the 
slavish dependence of these authors upon their authorities. More- 
over, they kept a definite purpose steadily before their minds, through- 
out all their studies, I am, therefore^ unable to offer this period of 
scholasticism as an example of pure external anancasni, which seems 
to be the fluorine of the intellectual elements. Perhaps the recent 
Japanese reception of western ideas is the purest instance of it in his- 
tory. Yet in combination with other elements, nothing is commoner, 
I If the development of ideas under the influence of the study of ex- 

^M ternal facts be considered as external anancasm, — it is on the border 
^1 between the external and the internal forms, — it is, of course, the 
^m principal thing in modern learning. But Whewell, whose masterly 



comprehension of the histor}' of science critics have been too igno- 
rant properly to appreciate, clearly shows that it is far from being 
the overwlielmingly preponderant influence, even there. 

Internal anancasm, or logical groping, which advances upon a 
predestined iine without being able to foresee whither it is to be car- 
ried nor to steer its course, this is the rule of development of phi- 
losophy. Hegel first made the world understand this ; and he seeks 
to make logic not merely the subjective guide and monitor of thought, 
which was all it had been ambitioning before, hut to be the very 
mainspring of thinking, and not merely of individual thinking but of 
discussion, of the history of the development of thought, of all his- 
tory, of all development. This involves a positive, clearly demon- 
strable error. Let the logic in question be of whatever kind it may, 
a logic of necessary inference or a logic of probable inference, (the 
theory might perhaps be shaped to fit either,) in any case it sup- 
poses that logic is sufficient of itself to determine what conclusion 
follow^s from given premises ; for unless it will do so much, it will 
not suffice to explain why an individual train of reasoning should 
take just the course it does take, to say nothing of other kinds of 
development. It thus supposes that from given premises, only one 
conclusion can logically be drawn, and that there is no scope at all 
for free choice. That from given premises only one conclusion can 
logically be drawn, is one of the false notions w^hich have come from 
logicians' confining their attention to that Nantucket of thought, the 
logic of non-relative terms. In the logic of relatives, it does not hold 

One remark occurs to me. If the evolution of history is in con- 
siderable part of the nature of internal anancasm, it resembles the 
development of individual men : and just as 33 years is a rough but 
natural unit of time for individuals, being the average age at which 
man has issue, so there should be an approximate period at the end 
of which one great historical movement ought to be likely to be sup- 
planted by another. Let us see if we can make out anything of the 
kind. Take the governmental development of Rome as being suffi- 
ciently long and set down the principal dates. 



B c, 753, FoundatioD of Rome, 

B. c. 510, Expulsion of the Tarquins. 

B, c, 27, OcUvius assumes title Augustus. 

A, D. 476, End of Western Empire. 

A. D- 962. Holy Roman Empire. 

A. D, M53v Fall of Constantinople, 

The last event was one of the most significant in history, especially 
for Italy. The intervals are 243, 485, 502, 486, 491 years. All are 
rather curiously near equal, except the first which is hall the others. 
Successive reigns of kings would not commonly be so near equal. 
Let us set down a few dates in the history of thought. 

B. c, 585, Eclipse of Thales. Beginning of Greek philosophy 
A. i>. 30, The crucifixion* 

A. D. 529, Closing of Athenian schools. End of Greek philosophy. 
A. n. 1125, (Approximate) Rise of the Universities of Bologna and Paris. 
A. Dr 1543* Publication of the " De Rcvolutioaibus " of Copernicus. Be- 
ginning of Modern Science. 

H The intervals are 615, 499^ 596, 418, years 

^1 physics, we may take the following: 


~ e 

In the history of meta- 

B. c. 322, Dealh of Aristotle. 
A. D. 1274, Death of Aquinas. 
A. D, 1804, Dealh of Kant. 

The former is about thrice 

The intervals are 1595 and 530 years. 
the latter. 

From these figures, no conclusion can fairly be drawn. At the 
same time, they suggest that perhaps there may be a rough natural 
era of about 500 years. Should there be any independent evidence 
of this, the interv^als noticed may gain some significance. 

The agapastic development of thought should, if it exists, be 
distinguished by its purposive character, this purpose being the de- 
velopment of an idea. We should have a direct agapic or sympa- 
thetic comprehension and recognition of it, by virtue of the contin- 
uity of thought. I here take it for granted that such continuity of 
thought has been stifficiently proved by the arguments used in my 
paper on the *' Law of Mind " in 77/^ Monisi of last July. Even if 
those arguments are not quite convincing in themselves, yet if they 



are reenforced In an apparent agapasm in the history of thought, 
the two propositions will lend one another mutual aid. The reader 
will, I trust, be too well grounded in logic to mistake such mutual 
support for a vicious circle in reasoning. If it could be shown di- 
rectly that there is such an entity as the •* spirit of an age " or of a 
people, and that mere individual intelligence will not account for all 
the phenomena, this would be proof enough at once of agapasticism 
and of synechism. 1 must acknowledge that I am unable to produce 
a cogent demonstration of this ; but I am, I believe, able to adduce 
such arguments as will serve to confirm those which have been drawn 
from other facts. I believe that all the greatest achievements of 
mind have been beyond the powers of unaided individuals ; aod I 
find, apart from the support this opinion receives from synechistic 
considerations, and from the purposive character of many great move- 
ments, direct reason for so thinking in the sublimity of the ideas and 
in their occurring simultaneously and independently to a number of 
individuals of no extraordinary general powers. The pointed Gothic 
architecture in several of its developments appears to me to be of 
such a character. All attempts to imitate it by modern architects 
of the greatest learning and genius appear flat and tame, and are 
felt by their authors to he so. Yet at the time the style w'as living, 
there was quite an abundance of men capable of producing works of 
this kind of gigantic sublimity and power. In more than one case, 
extant documents show that the cathedral chapters, in the selection 
of architects, treated high artistic genius as a secondary considera- 
tion, as if there were no lack of persons able to supply that ; and 
the results justify their confidence. Were individuals in general, 
then, in those ages possessed of such lofty natures and high intel- 
lect? Such an opinion would break down under the first examina- 

How many times have men now in middle life seen great dis- 
coveries made independently and almost simultaneously ! The first 
instance I remember was the prediction of a planet exterior to Ura- 
nus by Leverrier and Adams. One hardly knows to whora the 
principle of the conservation of energy ought to be attributed, al- 
though it may reasonably be considered as the greatest discover)^ 









science has ever made. The mechanical theory of heat was set forth 
by Rankine and by Clausius during the same month of Februar)*, 
1850; and there are eminent men who attribute this great step to 
Thomson.* The kinetical theory of gases, after being started by 
John BernoulH and long buried in oblivion, was reinvented and ap- 
plied to the explanation not merely of the laws of Boyle, Charles, 
and Avogadro, but also of diffusion and viscosity, by at least three 
modem physicists separately. It is well known that the doctrine oi 
natural selection was presented by Wallace and by Darwin at the 
same meeting of the British Association ; and Darwin in his ** His- 
torical Sketch ** prefixed to the later editions of his book shows that 
both were anticipated by obscure forerunners. The method of spec- 
trum analysis was claimed for Swan as well as for Kirchhoff, and there 
were others who perhaps had still better claims. The authorship of 
the Periodical Law of the Chemical Elements is disputed between a 
Russian, a German, and an Englishman ; although there is no room 
for doubt that the principal merit belongs to the first. These are 
nearly all the greatest discoveries of our times. It is the same with 
the inventions. It may not be surprising that the telegraph should 
have been independently made by several inventors, because it was 
an easy corollary from scientific facts well made out before- But it 
was not so with the telephone and other inventions. Ether; the first 
anaesthetic, was introduced independently by three different New Eng- 
land physicians. Now ether had been a common article for a century. 
It had been in one of the pharmacopceias three centuries before. It 
is quite incredible that its anaesthetic property should not have been 
known; it was known. It had probably passed from mouth to ear 
as a secret from the days of Basil Valentine; but for long it had 
been a secret of the Punchinello kind. In New England, for many 
years, boys had used it for amusement. Why then had it not been 
put to its serious use ? No reason can be given, except that the mo- 
tive to do so was not strong enough. The motives to doing so could 
only have been desire for gain and philanthropy. About 1846, the 

* ThomsoD, himself, ia his article fftuit in the Encyclefsfdin Brif annua, never 
mentions the name of Clausius, 



date of the introduction, philanthropy was undoubtedly in an un- 
usually active condition. That sensibility, or sentimentalisra, which 
had been introduced in the previous century, had undergone a ripen- 
ing process, in consequence of which, though now less intense than 
it had previously been, it was more likely to influence unreflecting 
people than it had ever been. All three of the ether-claimants had 
probably been influenced by the desire for gain ; but nevertheless 
they were certainly not insensible to the agapic influences* 

1 doubt if any of the great discoveries ought, properly, to be 
considered as altogether individual achievements ; and 1 think many 
will share this doubt. Yet, if not, what an argument for the con- 
tinuity of mind, and for agapasticism is here ! 1 do not wish to be 
ver}' strenuous. If thinkers will only be persuaded to lay aside their 
prejudices and apply themselves to studying the evidences of this 
doctrine, I shall be fully content to aw^ait the final decision. 

Charles S. PurkCE. 


LONDON. OCTOBER, 9, 1892, 

**Be calm and resigned/' said Renan to his weeping wife. 
•* We undergo the laws of that nature of w^hich we are manifesta- 
tions. We perish, we disappear, but heaven and earth remain, and 
the march of time goes on for ever*" 

It is hard to-day to respond to these last words of the dying 
philosopher. Heaven and earth remain, but they seem cold and grey 
when the great heart in which they were united has ceased to beat, 
and when our sweet English singer has gone silent. By the passing 
away of the two highest-mounted minds in Europe this society is 
especially bereaved. The earliest welcome given to the genius of 
young Tennyson came from the pen of W'illiam Johnstt>n Fox, the 
first Minister of this Chapel ; here has his spiritual pilgrimage been 
followed, and its songs here sung as hymns. But for their magni- 
tude Tennyson and Renan might liave been considered together. 
They were children of the same spiritual epoch ; the son of the 
Catholic Church, and the English Rector's son, were fellow-pilgrims 
on the painful road of scepticism ; they encountered the same phan- 
toms, were attended by the same mighty shades, and found no altar 
but such as their own genius could raise and their glowing hearts 
kindle in the wilderness of doubt and denial. Alike they distrusted 
democracy, and dreamed of the ideal monarch, — as of Arthur, *' flower 
of kings," whom ancient legends of Britain* and Brittany said would 
some day return to lead up the Golden Year. Renan loved to tell 
the story of how Tennyson, roaming in Brittany, stopped at an inn 

202 THE MrJNISr. 

in Lannier, birthplace of Kenan's mother. In the morning the poet 
demanded his account, but the hostess said, ** There is nothing to 
pay, Monsieur. It is you who have sung of our King Arthur/' 

But the people have a greatness of their own. They enshrine 
Tennyson in Westminster Abbey, Renan in the Pantheon. The 
career of Renan is a triumph of repubhcan France. Under the Em- 
pire he was deprived of his professorship, and of his office in the 
Imperial Library, for writing the '' Life of Jesus/' But the Republic 
made him President of the College of France, gave him every honor, 
in life as in death. The national homage to that expriest* that out- 
spoken rationalist, who flattered not the masses nor fawned on 
power, is a high water-mark of civilisation. For it marks the rise 
of a steady tide of liberty, and not the mere leap of waves under 
some tempest of momentary emotion. The great fact is that this 
unique heretic, thinker, and scholar, has been able, without com- 
promising his independence, without help of any sect or school, to 
live his life, think his thought, and round out his life-work with com- 
pleteness, on the scene of a thousand martyrdoms. 

In Kenan's **Feuilles D^tach^es,** which appeared last spring 
but is not yet translated, there are outbursts of gratitude to his time, 
which, he says, has been good to him, and pardoned many faults- 
He had just frnished, he says, his ** Histor>' of the People of Israel '* — 
' ' the serious w ork of my life. *' 

*• The bridge which it remained to me to build between Judaism and Christian- 
hm 15 buill, , . In the ' Life of Jesus ' I tried to exhibit the majestic growth of the 
Galilean tree from the slock of its roots to the suminit, where sing the birds of 
heaven. In the volume jtist finished I have sought to make known the subsoil in 
which shot the roots of Jesus Thus my principal duty is accomplished. At the 
Academy the work on the Rabbins also nears conclusion, and the Cor/^as /rntrfp- 
tiontim Stfuitiiiyrum is in excellent hands. So that now, having paid all my debts, I 
am free enough to amuse myself a little, and without scruples to indulge royself with 
the pleasure of gathering these leaves, often light enough/* 

So radiant was the author, at sixty-nine, having achieved the 
main schemes of a life which, at forty, was threatened with ruin by 
intolerance. Of course it was but a small part of what he would 
fain have accomplished. Last year (September ii) there was a f es- 



tival in the Island of Br^hat, where Renan was the chief speaker. 
In the course of his address he said : 

*• Every year I used to come hither with rny mother to visit my aunt Purine, 
who loved me much, for she thought me Jike my father. Here on your rocks, and 
in your paths, I formed plans and dreamed dreams, of which I have realised a third 
or a quarter. That is much ; I consider myself fortunate : I hold myself among the 
privileged ones of life. I have l>een more sad than now, for I feared I might die 
young (misfortune notably not arrived) and never produce what was in my mind- 
Oh certamly, could I live a long time yet, I would know what to do. I have schemes 
of work for three or four lives, I would write a history of the French Revolution. 
showing it an attack of fever, grand, strange, horrible, and sublime ; the foundation. 
let us hope of something better. I would compose a history of Athens, almost day 
.by day : al$io a history of science and freethought, telling by what steps man has 
, come to know something of how the world is made : I would write a history of Brit- 
lany in six volumes. I would study Chinese, and review critically all the problems 
of Chinese history and literature. Of all that I would make nothing There is a 
crowd of things I wish to know and shall never know. But why reproach nature 
for refusing me? Let us recognise what she has given us, I have traversed the 
. world at an interesting moment in its development, and. after all, have seen enough 
After my time humanity will do surprising things 1 I can rest content during eter* 
nity . " 

The happiness of this venerable author, conscious that his life 
is closing, his work ended, — a happiness not derived from any hope \ 
of future reward, or even existence, — is a salient testimony of our / 
time. In one of these recent addresses Renan says: **Let us die 
calmly, in tiie communion of humanity, the religion of the future. ' 
The dying Voltaire was fed with a wafer, even while he ridiculed it. 
Renan partakes the communion of humanity* the religion of the 
future. It may appear cold comfort to the superstitious, for they 
comprehend not that to such a man the communion ol humanity im- 
plies an eternal life. 

In one sense Renan lived not quite threescore years and ten ; in 
another he lived ages on ages. By his mastery of Eastern and Orien- 
tal languages and literatures, by his studies of ancient and modern 
systems, he had familiarly dwelt among primitive tribes, with them 
set up their sacred dolmens, knelt at their altars, travelled with thtiir 
migrations in India, Persia, Egypt, Syria, shared their pilgrimages 
from lower to higher beliefs, listened to their prophets, visited the 



home of Mary and Jost-ph, walked witli the disciples, conversed 
with Jesus, witnessed the crucifixion, journeyed through the middle 
ages, reached the Renaissance, passed through Protestantism, gath- 
ered every spiritual tlower of the nineteenth century. Such long 
experience of the past, such knowledge of the attractions of human- 
ity, — predicting its fulfilments, -carry the thinker equally far into 
the future. Knowing the angles of convergence in time's rising 
pyramid, he can calculate the apex, and look down from it. He is 
ahie to rejoice in realisations of ideals now mere tendencies. His 
immortality is present. Such to Renan meant that communion of 
humanity, into which he entered by patient studies, and hy the de- 
votion of his life to the spiritual essence of the world. And this 
vision sustained him in bis last hour. 

And let me here say, that Renan's optimism was not based in 
any belief in a superhuman providence, or any dynamic or com- 
I pulsory destiny in nature. It was his faith in the heart and brain of 
man. In his last work he reminds youth that their efforts at new 
abstractions and theologies are idle : the new notions will follow the 
old into extinction. ** Dear children,'* he says — 

"Dt^ar children, it is useless to give yourself so much headache to reach only a 
[ change of error. Let us die calm, in the communion of humanity, the religion of 
the future. The existence of the world is assured for a long lime. The future of 
science is guaranteed, for in the great scientific book everything adds itself and 
nothing is lost. Error is not deep ; no error lasts long. Be tranquil. Before a 
thousand years, let us hope* the earth will find means to supply its exhausted coal, 
and, in some degree, its diminished virtue. The resources of humanity are infinite. 
Eternal works accomplish themselves without loss to the fountain of living forces, 
ever rising again to the surface. Science, above aJl, will continue to astonish us by 
its revelations, substituting the infinite of time and space for a poor creationism that 
can no longer satisfy the imagination of a child. Religion also is true to the infinite. 
When God shall be complete, he will be just. I am convinced that virtue will ftnd 
itself one day clearly to have been the better part. The merit is in afiBrming duty 
against the apparent evidences, t-^^ ^^^^ ^^^ future] denying not. affirming not, let 
us hope. Let us keep a place at our funerals for the music and the incense." 

It will he seen that Renan's deity is the brother of man *s divinity. 
God is as dependent on man as man on God. Natural evil is God*s 
incompleteness : when man is complete God will be complete; there 
will be no more injustice. 



But I must warn you that while this is the way in which Renan 
impresses me, he is not a man to be caught or held in any one 
theory. He is the many-sided man of our lime. When I heard his 
lectures in his college, two years ago,— his French was so clear and 
expressive that even a limping listener could follow him tolerably, — 
he impressed me as a sort of Buddha, Buddha is supposed by some 
to have got his large form by sitting so long in contemplation, by 
others his size is regarded as a protest against the meagreness of 
ill-fed ascetics. The unf arrowed serenity of Buddha's face, his in- 
fantine smile, were those of Renan, also the remembered music of 
his voice. This association has been extended to Renan *s spiritual 
nature by a letter of his to a friend, in his ''Feuilles Ddtach^es/' 
He is fascinated by the legends of Buddha and Krishna which de- 
scribe them as multiplying themselves. When Buddha was born 
into this world, ten thousand women entreated to be his nurses, and 
Buddha multiplied himself into ten thousand babies. Each woman 
believed that she alone had nursed the true Buddha. In the legend 
of the god Krishna, he first appeared to some shepherdesses who 
were dancing. The beautiful god multiplied himself into as many 
forms as there were maidens, so that each believed that she alone 
had danced with Krishna, and through life kept her heart sacred to 
him. Writing of these legends, Renan says: 

**The Ideal loses nothing by dividing itself: il is entire in each of its parts* 
We live ihat part of Krishna which we assimilate according to our genius. Tht; 
ideal is for all partakers, like morsels modified to each taste. Each creates his di- 
vine dancer. One refinenient I would introduce into the legend of Krishna, should 
1 ever make it into a drama, or. better, a philasophic ballet : at the time when the 
shepherdesses believed they were singly dancing with Krishna, he should ftnd that 
they were in reality dancing with different Krishnas. Each had made her Krishna 
lo her fancy, and when they came to describe to each other their heavenly lover, 
they should find their visions in nowise alike ; and nevertheless to each it was al- 
ways Krishna '* 

The legend which thus charmed Renan has many correspond- 
ences in religious history ; in Christianity, for instance, where we 
to-day find a hundred and fifty sects, each believing that it alonu 
has the true Christ for partner. But it applies to all great person- 
ah*ties, and to all spiritual influences. The finest spirits frame no 



systems, found no schools. They are akin to the sun and rain which 
nourish and paint innumerahle and diverse growths. It was so with 
Emerson. Dean Stanley said that he heard many different preachers 
in America, but their sermons were generally by Emerson, It was 
preeminently the case with Renan. The Cathohc, tlie Protestant, 
the idealist, the sceptic, the man of the world, the mystic, the con- 
servative, the radical, provided they are unsophisticated like the 
shepherdesses, not champions of some sect or party, find that Renan 
has spoken better for them than they can for themselves ; he knows 
their secret heart, is their partner by unbounded sympathies. Yet 
it is always the same Renan, full and entire in each and all of his 

Some time ago^ when his friend Littr(§, the Positivist, was buried 
by his family with Catliohc rites, the aspersoir passed round the 
grave, and came to Renan, wlvo, like the rest, sprinkled holy water 
on the coffin. There were cries of ** Shame " among the freethinkers 
present ; but really it %vas the act of a man less sectariiin than them- 
selves. The same tenderness that could not wound the family part- 
, ing for ever from their beloved, is visible in the gentleness with which 
he treats old beliefs, when it is a question of affection or sentiment, 
not of dogma and authority. They have died out of his mind ut- 
terly ; he sees the creeds already in their graves ; he no longer fears 
them, but is glad to soothe those w^ho cling to their lifeless forms by 
speaking kindly of their virtues in the past. His *• Life of Jesus" 
is, in large part, a wreath of immortelles laid on the tomb of a faith 
to him utterly dead, — -that is, faith in a supernatural Christ. He 
once told me of a little island ou the coast of his native Brittany, 
from which some medieval saint was supposed to have driven mon- 
strous serpents, or worms. To that island the peasants still repair 
to get a little of the soil to use as a — vermifuge. To similarly small 
size had shrunk, in Renan 's view, the greatest dogmas and super- 
stitions of Christendom Others might still compliment them wuth 
fear and wrath, but Renan was tender to them because o! their small- 
ness. He was endlessly good-natured with his ignorant opponents^ 
from whom he often received warning letters. Of one who wrote 
him simply the words, Ri-merndt-r, (here is a Heii^ he said that tliis 



monitor did not tenrily him as much as he may have supposed. He 
(Renan) would be rather glad to know for certain that there was be- 
yond the grave even a helL And if he should go there he felt certain 
that he would be able to address to the deit}* such subtle arguments * 
to prove that he ought not to remain there, but to be transferred to 
paradise, (only he feared his exhorter' s paradise would be very dull,) 
that he would presently be released. 

One purpose of the **Life of Jesus*' has been monlioned, but 
that work had also another and a higher aim. With a love like thai 
of Mary Magdalene, in whose rapt vision Jesus rose from the tomb, 
to be transformed into a supernatural Christ, Renan sought to raise 
out of the grave of that supernatural Christ the human Jesus, He 
had travelle4 through Palestine, visited every spot associated with 
the great teacher, and drew the most realistic portraiture he could 
of the parents, home, friends, disciples, and daily life of Jesus. The 
outcry against that book was a confession by theology of its utter 
loss of the human personality of Jesus. There had been a time 
when the religious heart loved to dwell on the sweet humanities of 
Jesus. In the seventeenth century the poet, Thomas Dekker, wrote : 

*' Tbe best of men 
That e'er wore {-arth about him was a sufferer ; 
A soft, meek, patieat, humble, tranquil spirit, 
The first true gentleman that ever breathed." 

And such remembrance of Jesus, in his life among the people, his 
friendships, smiles and tears, are found in the sermons of Tillotson» 
Sootli, Jeremy Taylor, But the descended God gradually consumed/'^ 
the humanity. In the last century it became a heresy to consider 
Jesus as a man. The man was crucified on a cross of dogmas ; he 
lay dead and buried under a stony theology, until Renan rolled away 
the stone, raised him to life, clothed him with fiesh and blood, in- 
vested him with beauty, and said once more to the Pharisee, the 
sceptic, the scoffer — Brhoid the man! For writing that book,— just 
after Strauss had shown the Christ of Christendom a mythological 
figure, ^ — the churches should have clasped Renan's knees. But for 
it they heaped him wnth abuse, declared that Jewish bankers had 
bribed him to write it, drove him from his professorship of Hebrew, 



reduced him to poverty. The Pope denounced him as ^* The Euro- 
pean Blasphemer/' lie has been terribly avenged in his own coun- 
try, where every educated man has abandoned the church. And he 
lived to see the Christianity of England striving to gain a new hold 
on the people by following his brave gesture, — rationalising away 
the supernatural Christ, and exalting the humanity of Jesus as the 
sign of his divinity. .The criticism of that work is not at all so de- 
structive as that of many who have written in the generation that has 
elapsed since its appearance, — of Dr. Martlneau, for instance, on 
whom Oxford has conferred a doctor's degree- Indeed, in reading 
Kenan's ** Life of Jesus*' now, one is surprised by its concessions. 
He accepts the four Gospels as coming from the first centur}^ a be- 
lief which even the learned theologians have abandoned. Some 
newspaper has said that Rencm borrowed from Strauss ; on the con- 
trary, the fault of the book is that it did not borrow from Straiissi 
and from English authors, who had proved that the Gospels are all 
of the second century. That would have reheved him of the neces- 
sity of apologising for Jesus in some matters of which Jesus never 
heard, of which Paul in the first century knew nothing, as when he 
intimates that Jesus may have once lent himself to an amiable de- 
ception. No miracle was ever ascribed to Jesus by any writer of 
his own century. In several other respects Kenan's ** Life of Jesus," 
on its negative side, is behind the advance of research and criticism. 
But those are small details compared with the spirit and genera) 
purpose of the work. In this mom en I, when we are celebrating tile 
discovery of a western world, we may well pay homage to the scholar 
who rediscovered and e.\humed an eastern world, long buried under 
debris of mythology and rubbish of superstitions. This Kenan has 
done in his series of works on the ** Origins of Christianity," begin- 
ning with the *' Life of Jesus," dealing with the ♦* Apostles, '* with 
'*St. Paul," with ** Antichrist,'* and other studies, leading up to his 
*• History of the People of Israel." 

In all these works there is not a line that is not interesting^ alike 
to learned and unlearned. As some one has said, Kenan could 
make Hebrew roots blossom with roses and lilies. But that super- 
fine art of his was carrying the cause of intellectual and religious 




emancipation. For these works concerned the constitution of 
Europe, This Great Britain, with all its physical freedom, is re- 
ligiously a mere dependency of Jiidea, Here men were formerly 
burnt, until lately Imprisoned, and even now denied equal advan- 
tages, not in accordance with what Englishmen think, but with the 
opinions of some ancient Jews, The voice of the Jews was the voice 
of God. But Judea, like the Grand Llama, could rule only while 
veiled, Renan unveiled it. He did it all the more effecttially be- 
cause in the literary and philosophic spirit. All the ages of Judea, 
from the first tribal groups to the movement of John the Baptist and 
Jesus, are assigned their exact place as successive chapters of human 
histor}% the natural origin of their mythology is explained, Jehovah 
takes his seat beside Jupiter and Brahma, Jesus is revered with .y 
Buddha and Zoroaster ; and all this is done, not by mere opinion/ 
but by impregnable facts, unwearied researches, inflexible veracity. 
It was also done lovingly. A superstition can survive combat, but 
not explanation. Renan did much to remove Christianity from the 
field of militant camps to the quiet province of literary investigation. 
In the Republic of Letters there is no arbitrary authority. The 
combat is left to salvation armies. — ^** theirs not to reason why/' 

There is a large Renan literature. More than three hundred 
works represent the efforts of theology to get the resuscitated human 
Jesus back into his grave again. Renan*s accessible life-work is 
represented by about twenty-five volumes, of which some are phib 
osophic diversions written amid the heavy labours of his College, 
and while collecting and preserving for scholars the w^hole body of 
Semitic inscriptions. For more than twenty years Renan has been 
training the yoimg scholars of France — those who are to fashion 
France in the future, and influence mankind. Those acquainted 
with his larger works can realise his immense service in elevating 
the standard of criticism, and establishing the method of exact re- 
search and exact thought. But there are other works of Renan, 
notably his FhilosophU Dramas^ not yet translated, from which may 
be better gathered the great variety of his ability^ the poetic play of 
his genius, and the charm of his personality, which some of us have 
personally felt, and which so won all hearts that even the priesthood 


have not raised discordant notes in the homage and emotion with 
which his nation has laid him in an honoured- grave. 

Farewell, great heart, and great leader ! On your coffin I laid a 
wreath of immortelles for friendship, for the homage of America, 
and for the sake of this free English Society. For your victory is 
ours also : your triumph is that of every independent mind on earth. 

MoNCURE D. Conway. 


THE question whether we act more frequently from intuition or 
reason, and the question that foilows it» whtcli faculty is the 
more noble guide to conduct, would have no more interest for the 
general public than any other of the subjects which the metaphysi- 
cian exercises his ingenuity upon, — than the question, for instance, 
whether we execute a greater number of analytic or of synthetic 
judgments in the course of the day, — were it not that there is an an- 
cient opinion to the effect that reason and intuition are marks re- 
spectively of the manner of working of men's and of women's minds. 
The opinion is wholly unfounded^ and could only have had its origin 
at a time when the psychology of the working of the human mind 
was thoroughly misunderstood. As the very terms in which the 
opinion is expressed make plain, it dates from the period when it 
was the custom to speak of the human mind as having a lot of 
separate *' faculties" under its control, and of calling up now one 
and now another of them to do its bidding. It is time that the be- 
lief in the different quality of men*s and of %vomen's minds should 
follow the whole antiquated machinery of ** faculties '* into the limbo 
of old and worn-out fashions of thought and of speech* 

This ilkision, however, like most of the illusions that have had 
a firm foot-hold in their day, has a perfectly comprehensible reason 
for its existence. It is not true that men's minds and women's 
minds have a different way of working ; but it is true that upon cer- 
tain occasions (and by far the greatest number of occasions) we all 
— men» women, and negroes alike — act from intuition, and that the 
circumstances of women's lives have hitherto been such as to make 
their interests lie somewhat more exclusively in those regions in which 



conduct is intuitive than in those in which it is long thought out. It 
is not true that the Creator has made two separate kinds of mind for 
men and for women ; but it is true that society, as at present con- 
stituted, offers two somewhat separate /^-A/^f of interest for men and 
for women, and that the nature of their conduct is of necessity de- 
termined hy the character of the action which is demanded of thera, 

Wfiat is the difference for the psychologist, between the mental 
state of a being who acts from reason, and of one who acts from in- 
tuition ? It is not a difference of the kind of tnimi v^\{\z\\ controls 
him, but of the kind of ktiowledgc upon which his present conduct is 
based. If one individual has got at his command a lot of general 
propositions bearing upon the case in hand, and if his familiarity 
with them is not such that they flow together without conscious ef- 
fort, then he must laboriously piece them together, and think out 
the conclusions which they necessitate. If another individual, hav- 
ing led a different life, has had a lot of experiences which cover just 
such cases as this, and if he has been taught by thousands of \\\- 
stances that under these circumstances a certain course of conduct _ 
will nearly always lead to good resultSj then he can trust to his hand^ 
or Ins feet to execute that course of conduct without a moment's aid 
from conscious reflection ; he can go on with his novel, or whatever 
other pleasant occupation engages his attention, without the wear 
and tear of mind which is involved in consciously thinking about 
the circumstances in question. 

Now the differences in the mental processes of men and women 
are exactly of this nature. They are differences dependent upon the 
fact that the knmuiedi^e at their command — that is, the stored up 
premises upon which action is based — is, to a certain extent, of a 
different kind, and got from different sources. So far as the knowl- 
edge is not of a different kind, the character of the action is not of 
a different kind. There is an immense number of conclusions which 
men and women alike ''jump at,-' every hour in the day ; and some 
of them represent reasoning so fixedly instinctive, that even the 
closest attention does not enable us to drag it up into the light of 
consciousness. How many people know that a certain feeling of 
strain in the muscles which move the eyes is a sign of a certain dis- 



tance of an object looked at, and a different feeling of strain, a sign 
of a different distance ; and that when the eyes are 6xed upon one 
point, objects in the lateral field of view are judged to be nearer or 
farther away than that point, according as the two disparate images 
which they cast upon the two retinas are, the right-hand one or the 
left hand one, the brighter? The common roan kmws that one ob- 
ject is near and the other far, but he is not C0mdotis even of the feel- 
ing of strain, nor of the existence of double images ; the physio- 
logical psychologist knows the unconscious syllogism by which he 
must reach his conclusion, but even he cannot, by any possibility, 
make it cease to be instinctive, — that is, make himself conscious of 
its different steps- On the other hand, no one, whether man or 
woman, can pass from one proposition in geometry to another by a 
process which is in any sense unconscious, though one person may 
be obliged to give a much more strained attention to what he is 
doing than another. 

Now it is very possible that a greater number of the actions of 
women have their ground in unconscious causes than of the actions 
of men. The subjects upon which action is of vital concern to them 
have been different subjects, and hence their stored-up stock of 
knowledge is knowledge about di0erent subjects. To the woman of 
the past, who was to a great extent confined to her own home, the 
temper of her house-mates was what her happiness depended upon 
more than anything else in the world. It was impossible that she 
should not acquire a keen intelligence in interpreting every slightest 
shade of expression upon the human face. But this sort of knowl- 
edge is always instinctive, whether it is practised by men or by wo- 
men. If the eyes of the most reasonable man in the world should 
chance to show him a certain cun^e of the lip and a certain elevation 
of the posterior angle of the alse of the nostrils on the face of the 
fair lady to whom he was talking, would he try to call to mind the 
pictures in Sir Charles Bell's great work on expression and the gen- 
eral theorems in Darwin's book on the same subject, and piecing 
this and that laboriously together, would he try to arrive at some 
just conclusion regarding the contents of the fair lady's mind? 
Would he not, rather, instinctively change the subject of conversa- 



tion, or even discreetly beat a retreat, long before he had time to 
ihink^ Women's interests have been so exclusively social that they 
have developed a sense for the physical expression of emotion which 
makes society for them a matter of complicated relations, of delicate 
susceptibility to play of feeling, which — except in the hyper-sensi- 
tive y>eriod of courtship— is not common among men. But there 
are men who are quite the equals of women in this respect ; and if 
any man is markedly deficient in these qualities, we recognise him 
as belonging to a low and brutal type which is in process of extinc- 
tion. If a woman on the other hand, goes into business, she does 
not fix the prices of her straw hats each morning in accordance with 
the feelings which straw hats awaken in her when she first looks at 
them, but in accordance with the fiuctuations of the market. The 
President of a New Hampshire Street Railway did not carry through 
her improvements by her intuitions, but by a plain, common-sense 
weighing of reasons. Nor are all masculine occupations under the 
guidance of the reasoning faculty. If you go to a stove-man and 
ask him to mend your smoking chimney, does he do it by reason? 
Not a bit of it ! There may be stove* men who have enough knowl- 
edge of the laws which regulate the movements of masses of hot air 
to be able to apply general principles to particular instances, but in 
the course of a long and checkered experience with stove- men, it 
has not been my lot to fall in with them. Their knowledge of chim- 
neys, such as it is, is got by experience and applied by intuition, 
and nothing is farther from their minds than any trace of deductive 
reasoning. It is not that there are men*s minds and women's 
minds, but that there are theoretical subjects and practical subjects, 
and that knowledge is not the same kind of knowledge in both. 

Intuition, in the sense in which it is used when discussing male 
and female minds, is a word of double meaning : it covers those ac- 
tions which we go through with by instinct, or inherited experience 
ingrained from the beginning in our nervous structure, and those 
which we perform automatically^ or by individual experience be- 
come so familiar that it can act as a guide without the aid of con- 
scious reiiection. The relative distances of objects looked at we 
know instinctively j the trained musician with mind intent upon ex- 



pression, reads his notes automatically ; the beginner at the piano 
goes through a painful process of syllogism before each key is struck. 
All is, at bottom, reason ; in one case it is conscious ; in another it 
is unconscious, but can be forced into consciousness : in another, it 
is unconscious and cannot by any effort be made conscious. Be- 
cause a woman's interests lie more than a man's in regions in which 
thought is instinctive and automatic, it does not follow that she has 
developed any peculiar powers of intuition. Nor is there any pos- 
sibility that mothers should occasionally transmit their powers of 
intutlion to favored sons, as Mn Grant Allen, in the course of his 
apotheosis of the uneducated woman, has somewhere suggested ; 
some men have poetic and aesthetic minds, and in regions of poetry 
and art mental activity is largely of the instinctive kind- It is different 
with powers of reasoning. Good powders of reasoning may be trans- 
mitted from mother to son, but that is merely saying metaphorically 
that a good firm texture of mind may be transmitted. Hume and 
James Mill are two men who are supposed to owe much to their 
mothers, but their peculiar powers are not usually considered to lie 
in regions of intuition. No mother has ever produced an intuitive 
mathematician. Nor would any one who knew anything about the 
fiigher mathematics for a moment suppose that when a great math- 
ematician leaves out intermediate steps in a printed book, he had 
jumped at his conclusions by instinct. It is simply that, with his 
thorough knowledge of this particular subject, the intermediate steps 
have seemed to him too easy to set down. H his book is hard to 
read, it is simply because he has assumed a greater amount of 
learning in his readers than they are in possession of. 

The question whether intuition or reason is the nobler faculty 
is an exceedingly meaningless question. AU knowledge which finds 
frequent occasion to be put in practice has a tendency to become 
first automatic and then instinctive. Human progress consists in 
making conscious action automatic as soon as it can be done with 
safety, and in setting free consciousness to attend to more and more 
complicated combinations of circumstances. After the musician has 
learned to read his notes mechanically, shall we urge him to go 
back to the period of conscious Jinking of note to key, because rea- 


son is a diviner gift than intuition ? Is it desirable to turn the act 
of walking into a conscious fitting of muscular tension to variations 
in the position of the centre of gravity in order to distinguish our- 
selves the jnore effectually from the brutes that perish ? Reason is 
merely intuition in its formative stage, and the sooner all our pres- 
sent reasoned convictions become mechanical, and conscious thought 
is set free to bring in more and more far reaching considerations to 
bear upon our actions (including in that term our conclusions), the 
sooner will a higher form of life be reached. 

Wundt's students have made some experiments in his labora- 
tory in the last two or three years, which throw a great deal of light 
upon this question, — they have caught automatism in the ver>^ act 
of formation. It has been noticed that different observers differed 
very much in the reaction time which they assigned to the several 
senses, — that is, the time required, for instance, to hear the tap of 
a bell, and to press a button in response. Wundt's students found 
that there are two diMerent reaction times, — in one, time is taken to 
bring the tap of the bell into the focus of consciousness and to de- 
cide consciously what to do in response ; in the other, the process 
is unconscious. The first is nearly twice as long as the second, and 
both are very constant quantities, for the same sense. The exact 
figures are, in seconds : 


Sound ,,.....♦. .216 , 1 27 N, Lange 

, ,..,.., ,235 121 Belkin 

'* , 230 .124 L. Laiige 

Light , 290 .172 L. Lange 

'* .., .291 .182 Martms 

It may be inferred from this that, even in the simplest matters in- 
tuition is very nearly twice as valuable a ** faculty^' as reason, as 
far as economy of time is concerned. (It would be interesting to 
determine the di0erence in fatigue.) But the interesting point is 
that the experimenter can teach himself to give either reaction time 
at his pleasure. If he thinks of his ears, he has a feeling of strain 
in them, and a long reaction time ; if he directs his attention to his 
fingers (or if he thinks of indifferent matters) he is unconscious of 



Is going on, and his reaction time is short. It is plain that the 
more of these educated brain-reflexes we can produce, the fuller and 
more complicated lives we shall be capable of carrying on. It may 
also be assumed that the ideal human being is the one who has 
many brain -reflexes, but who is capable of bringing them aU into 
consciousness npon occasion. Connections that we cannot make 
conscious are a frequent source of illusion. When we move the 
eye-bal! about by the will, objects seem to remain stationary ; but 
when, putting the finger on the under eye-hd» we push the eye-ball 
up and down in the socket, we cannot help /<'/vm'/>/^^ that objects 
are moving up and down. Prof. William James suggests as a good 
experiment that some one who has eyes that he is not afraid of in- 
juring should do this pushing several hours a day, and see if he can- 
not force conscious reason to do her work and to make hirn set* that 
the objects are not moving. 

For perfectly regular circumstances, — that is, for the world of 
nature or of human character so far as is governed by fixed laws, — 
reflex action presents an immense economy of time and work. To 
provide against extraordinary emergencies, it would seem to be de- 
sirable that we should have the power of interposing consciousness 
in the chain which begins with stimulus and ends in action. When- 
ever a large number of considerations, or considerations of an ab- 
stract character, have to be weighed and balanced, then reason is 
the only sufficient guide. 

That women have no deficiency in the power of putting this 
and that together, when f/iis and //uj/ are pieces of knowledge which 
are in their possession, is absolutely proved by a single circum- 
stance. Geometry is a branch of learning which is entirely built 
up out of abstract reason, pure and undefiled. Geometry is studied, 
in the United States, in high schools, and it must not be forgotten 
that there are in this countr\' (according to the Report of the Bureau 
of Education) M/r^ ftMes as many girls as boys who take the high 
school course. It cannot be said, therefore, (as is said of girls who 
go to college) that the girls who go to the high school are a selected 
lot ; they are the very bone and fibre of the women who make up 
the country. Now if women could not reason, we ought to hear a 



great hue and cry from the teachers of the geometry classes about 
the difficulty of teaching that subject to girls, and the girls ought to 
lament and moan over the impossibility of getting safely through 
with their demonstrations. Is this the case? I have never met with 
a teacher of geometry who thought his boys did better than his girls, 
— I have met with several who thought the reverse. As long ago 
as 1865, Her Majesty's Inspector of schools, after travelling through 
this country, said : **The teachers ail tell me that the girls do fully 
as well as the boys in mathematics, — fully/' Nor are any sad effects 
noticeable upon health or spirits. Day after day an army of girls 
goes smiling into the class-room and conies smiling out, utterly un- 
aware that an unnatural wrench has been given to their delicate 
minds, and that they are being rapidly transformed into monstrous 
products of over-reason. 

If girJs show no defect in reason in the class-room, neither do 
boys show any defect in intuition,— in fact, their intuition about 
stretched strings and lines on balls are usually better than those of 
girls. I have kept a record for many years of errors committed by 
boys and by girls, and I have not been able to detect any difference 
in their character. It is true that it was a boy who once failed to 
get a problem in trigonometry for a week, because it was not ex- 
pressly stated in the book that the milestones to which the problem 
related were a mile apart. My intimate acquaintance with the char- 
acter of his mind prevented me, however, from attributing this fail- 
ure in intuition to his superior reasoning powers. 

The simple matter is that a good minii has good reasons and 
good intuitions both. Both qualities are summed up in the expres- 
sive popular phrase, "having your wits about you/' If you are in 
full possession of your wits, you will trust to your instincts, when 
you must ; to your acquired reflexes, when there is no sign of dan- 
ger ; and to your reason, when the question requires debate. It 
would be greatly for the good of the race if the common virtues 
should become more instinctive in men ; and if women should be 
put into a position in which they can reflect more wisely upon the 
virtues which are only just in process of getting known to be such. 
The only reason that women do not guide themselves by far-reaching 



principles in their every *d ay conduct, is that they have not made 
themselves acquainted with the doctrines of political economy and 

of abstract ethics. When women are in full possession of the higher 
education, there is no danger that they will not put it into practice, 
so far as it leads to practice. The human mind is so constituted 
that it cannot help taking account of all its knowledge. Proposi- 
tions merely learned by rote, or the truth of which it is not abso- 
lutely convinced of, it may leave one side, but not what it really 
knows. Nor is there any danger that woman will lose her powers of 
intuition. The knowledge and skill which she has acquired in social 
matters will not desert her hecause she has made herself familiar 
with the speculations of philosophers, and can turn to them for 
guidance in the intricate questions of conduct which the complexi- 
ties of modem life give rise to. So long as a woman's highest duty 
was to please her lord and master, tier task was simple, but women 
are now awake to a sense of wider responsibilities. They are now 
aware that it is their highest duty to bt the best possible kind 
of a human being, and tv do whatever lies within their strength to- 
wards making the world the best possible kind of a world to live 
in. For this end they have urgent need of ail the gifts that God has 
given them ; and he who would cripple their reason on the ground 
that intuition is a pleasing and a poetic guide, would do them a 
grievous wrong. 

Christine L^r^n Franklin. 



SPENCER says* that among savage nations the women are as 
perverse as the meu» and that if they do not work so much evil 
it is because they are less able to do so. This is not entirely true ; 
doubtless women among savages are much more inclined to cruelty 
than to pity, but, generally speaking, woman even at the very begin- 
nings of human evolution is less cruel than man. 

Woman, even among savage nations, is rarely a warrior. In 
the Antilles, the women watched over the safety of the islands when- 
ever their husbands went to war with the neighboring islands ; they 
were brave, strong, courageous, nearly equalling the men in their 
cleverness in handling weapons. f Amongst the ancient Bretons, 
armies were always commanded by women. In Dahomey, the dlite 
of the army is composed of a troop of six or seven thousand Ama- 
zons, who are very ferocious, particularly in the mutilation of dead 
bodies; women then become tigers, is a popular saying. Among the 
ancient Scots, women followed the army, and cruelly mutilated the 
prisoners. Among the Botocudos, when war breaks out between 
the tribes, the men fight the men with sticks, and the women fight 
the women, by scratching and by tearing the botoques (cylinders of 
wood) from their ears and lips. J But these are all exceptional cases. 

♦Spencer Prituip Us 0/ Sociology, II., p. 361, 

\ Irving. Hist. 0/ the Life ami Voytig/s vf Chris. Coium^ns^ II., p. 15. 

% Hovelacque. Les dibuts de thumaniti. 



Generally speakings the savage woman plays a secondary part in 
war ; she acts as an aaxilian*. pkks up arrows, throws stones from a 
distance, and carries the provisions etc 


It is above all in revenge, that feminine cruelty shows itself the 
most terrible. Man is capable of destroying whole fanitiies or na- 
tions, to satisfy a particular revenge ; but nothing equals the tngen- 
uity of woman, in slowly torrnenting her victim, in gloating over his 
sufferings and lengthening them out in order that her enjoyment of 
vengeance may endure as long as possible. 

In Tasmania, when the d/ai-k u^r broke out between the Eng- 
lish and the aborigines, the Tasmanian women terribly tortured the 
prisoners^ in order to avenge their companions who had been carried 
off by the English. We must also attribute to the desire for ven- 
geance, the torments infficted by the women upon prisoners of war 
among the Red Indians. 

Elizabeth of Russia, betrayed by her lover, obliged him to 
marry a deformed dwarf, and to pass his wedding night in an ice 
palace, where the furniture and the bed were all of ice. The next 
morning, attended by her Court, she went to present the newly wed- 
ded pair with a bouquet. She found them, stretched out upon their 
bed of ice, nearly frozen. She then banished her rival to Siberia 
first causing her ears and nose to be cut off. 

A wealthy Russian Prince, in love with a very beautiful peas- 
ant girl of fifteen, took her to live with him for five years; at the 
end of which time, wishing to contract an alliance, he paid her a 
sura of money in dower and obliged her to many* a peasant. The 
young girl made no sign for ten years, until the death of her husband; 
but after the lapse of that period, a rising having taken place among 
the peasantry against the nobles, she excited them and led a body 
of peasants to the castle of her ancient lover, had him taken and 
dragged into his hba^ harnessed him to the plough instead of the 
oxen, and for three days obliged him thus to w*ork, lashing him with 
the whip each time that he fell to the ground. At night she led him 
to the stable and made him lie down with the oxen ; compelling him 



to eat fodder with the beasts and making merry over his sorry plight. 
This amusement lasted for three days, at the end of which time, the 
man fell dead in one of the furrows he was ploughing.* 

A Russian, an idle and worthless fellow who had let his wife 
suffer hunger, proposed to her that she should be sold as a sla%^e to 
the Sultan. After some hesitation, she accepted and they started 
off ; but when they had gone about half the way, the husband having 
fallen asleep intoxicated, the idea came into her mind to sell him 
for a slave, in her place. She then tied him on the horse, started 
oti again on the road and arriving at the place of rendezvous, she 
delivered ht.*r husband to the merchant, and remained to watch the 
Turk push the half-awakened man into the boat, laughing whilst he 
showered blows upon him.t 

A young Russian peasant woman lived with a small land-owner, 
who betrayed her; at last she took refuge with a band of brigands, 
who treated her like a queen. One day she caused two of them to 
capture her old lover, and had him brought to the camp where she 
used him as a kind of living foot-stool : when she sat down she cov- 
ered him with a carpet and put her feet upon him, and when she 
wanted to go out she made him carry her on his shoulders, 


Woman sometimes displays the same amount of ingenuity in tor- 
menting the helpless creatures who may be in her power. I do not 
know, says Bourgavel, any one more perfidious, immoral, or perverse 
than the New Caledonian woman. In certain portions of Australia 
women are mortal foes to each other. When the men wish to pun- 
ish any one of them, they turn her over to her companions, who 
inflict upon her horrible tortures. J Sitting on her body, they cut her 
flesh with sharpened stones. 

In Tasmania, as amongst the ancient Saxons, the unfaithful 
wife was punished by her companions; she was not killed, hut 

* Sacher-Masoch . ^rt/. d^s Dmx Mondes. 

\ Sacher-Masoch. Ibid. 

% Letourneau. Evoiutim de h Morale, p. 122, 



she was tortured for a long time with sharp pointed stones or knives, 
in all parts of her body. 

Women have often been cruel mistresses to their slaves. A lady 
in Guiana, being envious of a very handsome mulatto slave, had her 
branded on the mouth, cheeks and forehead. In the case of another 
slave, who was also very beautiful, she had the tendon of Achilles 
cut thus causing her to become a deformed and crippled monster,* 

It is a notorious fact that Roman and Greek ladies often in- 
flicted most terrible punishments on their slaves, and that it was more 
particularly towards the female slaves, the anti/hr, that the cruelty of 
their mistresses was shown* The Roman ladies, if, while they were 
having their hair dressed, they were vexed with their attendantSi used 
to thrust pins into their arms and breasts. Darwin relates that at 
Rio Janeiro, an old lady possessed a kind of thumb screw which 
she had had made expressly to crush the fingers of her slaves. 


During periods of great national excitement, such as revolutions^ 
feminine cruelty shows how far it can go. 

The women, writes M. Du Camp, were the fiercest heroines of 
the Commune ; it was a woman who incited the assassination of the 
Dominicans. When the hostages were shot, they surpassed the men 
in cruelty ; they taunted them with not knowing how to kill. When 
employed to seek out the insurgents they were implacable ; when 
acting as infirmarians, they killed the wounded by giving them brandy 
to drink. 

At the time of the French Revolution, on the days of execution^ 
writes M. Legouv^jf the front rows nearest the guillotine were re- 
served for the women of the political clubs. They even hung on to 
the boards of the scaffold, in order the better to witness the death 
throes of the condemned, and drowned the cries of the victims by 
their peals of laughter. 

• Mantegazza. Fhhhgta etc, Milao. 1889. 
\ Hiit&irt m&rali dts fimmit. 





But again we find a series of contradictory facts, which bear 
witness that the sentiment of pity also is much keener in woman 
than in man* 

Even with animals, we observe tins phenomenon. Hens often 
separate two young cocks who are fighting together. Sir George 
Le Grand Jacob has observed females of the wild goat (Steinbock) 
raise with their heads he-goats that had been shot, support them 
and help them to escape. Romanes relates, that sometimes the 
female gibbon ^ takes great care of all the members of the troop 
when they are wounded, even if they are not related.* 

The savage woman also is very often kind and good. It is no- 
torious that the explorers of savage countries have often escaped 
serious perils, thanks to the kindness of the native women. Austra- 
lasian women have often revealed to European travellers the plots 
laid against them by the men of their tribe : they have even risked 
their own lives for that purpose. f Stanley, at the island of Bam- 
byrch, on the Nyanza, was roughl3^ greeted by the natives, who were 
desirous of exterminating his expedition ; but a woman came to warn 
him and to advise him to perform a certain ceremony with the King 
Shekka by which he would acquire his friendship. In Senegambia 
an old woman, meeting Mungo Park, w^ho was half dead of starva- 
tion and had just been despoiled by a negro king, gave him food, 
and went away without waiting to be thanked. Another time the 
same traveller, being left with nothing but his saddle, was hospi- 
tably entertained by some women, whom he heard chant these words 
as he (ell asleep: **The winds roared and the rain beat, the poor 
white man came and sat down under our tree, he had no mother to 
give him milk, no wnfe to grind him corn. Let us take pity on the 
white man, he has no mother, etc., etc." I Michelet says that woman 

♦Romanes. InUlIigfnre, Vol. 11. 

\ Hovelacque. Op, at. 

J Lelourueaii, La Sotioh^i iVaprh i^tthnographie. Paris, i8^^. 



was the first physician ; and certainly she fulfils the office of iniir* 
marian among many savage peoples, the Esquimaux, the Mincopies, 
etc. etc* 

In war the Samoan woman often interferes to make peace be- 
tween the belligerents. Among the Khonds, also, when two tribes 
quarrel, the women sometimes make peace, calling in the interven- 
tion of a third tribe. Quite recently, among the Montenegrins and 
Albanians, fierce strife broke out between different families, but in 
these fights, if a man took refuge with a woman and she covered 
him with her apron, he was safe. Among the Bedouin Arabs a 
woman can save the life of the condemned man who implores her 
protection. So it also was among the Roman Vestals, when in tlie 
streets they accidentally met a man condemned to death ; it was re- 
quired, however, that the meeting should be evidently a chance 
one, for it w^as feared that the privilege might be carried too far. 
Among civilised nations this sentiment of pity becomes naturally 
more developed. Christianity owed a great deal of its success among 
women to the fact, that it knew how^ to make use of their pity, by 
organising those associations of women which are its greatest orna-" 
ment. From the earliest years after the death of Jesus, in the cen- 
obi tic form of society lived by the disciples of the Messiah, they 
made use of the charitable sentiment of childless widow^s and created 
the order of Deaconesses, which was devoted to the care of the poor 
and the sick.* Legouv^ says: ** Women offered their services to 
Christianity like a volunteer batallion consecrated to charitable w^ork» 
In the Apostles' time their mission was one of sympathy and watch- 
fulness, a mother's vocation; in the time of the Martyrs they remained 
womanly in their modesty, wliile exhibiting a manly courage ; in the 
time of the Doctors, whilst orators speak and learned men write, 
women continue to love and console. ''f * 

This Christian tradition has survived and is still powerful, 
thanks to the deeply laid sentiment of pity in the heart of woman. 
'•Private charity in Paris,*' writes M, du Camp, J **is almost entirely 

♦ Renan. Z// ApPtrrs. 

t Op. cit 

} La fiutriii prh^f H Parity 1887, 



in the hands of women. There are in Paris women of the world, 
young and beautiful, born for pleasure, accustomed to every luxury, 
who visit the poor, nurse the sick, rock little motherless children, 
and all this they do simply without a word of self-praise. 

The society of ** Les Dames du Calvaire," in Paris, is composed 
of widows, who, without binding themselves by religious vows, en- 
gage to nurse the sick gathered into the hospitals of the association, 
poor outcasts attacked by loathsome diseases — cancer, for example. 
Women of wealth and belonging to great families often obtain ad- 
mission to this society. Female religious orders are rarely contem- 
plative ; they are nearly always charitable in aim, **The Daughters 
of Charity'* possess establishments all over the known world; they 
migrate^ says M. du Camp, *Mike benevolent birds, carrying with 
them the principle of self-sacrifice and the love of those that suffer. 
In all countries I have visited^ among sects most antagonistic to 
their religion, I have beheld them at work ; their faces shadowed by 
the immense cap, which resembles the wings of a white swan ; in- 
structing children, visiting the sick, caring for the plague-stricken, 
blessed by our sailors whom they nurse in the French hospitals in 
foreign lands.'* * i 

Pity in woman is sometimes so powerful a sentiment that it sup- 
plies the place in her of a higher faculty, intelligence. It was thus that 
a humble servant- maid, without learning, who could neither read nor 
write, founded one of the most prominent nursing sisterhoods in 
France, *'Les petites Soeurs des Pauvres," which to-day numbers 
3,400 sisters, and possesses 207 houses, where more than 25,000 old 
men are received and cared for. In the first half of this century there 
was such misery in Brittany that the old men were literally aban- 
doned by alb Jeanne Jugau, whose earnings hardly sufficed to main- 
tain herself, took in one, then two, then a number of them, without a 
thought of her own poverty, slaving might and main for their sup- 
port. Two women, Virginie Tredaniel and Marie Catherine, helped 
her ; a priest. Le Pailleur, took the direction of their work, and in 
a short time the order was fomided, and grew apace. There, w^here 

♦ Op. cit. 



genius might have failed, the love and pity of a servant-maid suc- 

Another heroine of charity, though of a different type, was 
Jeanne Gamier. She was perpetually haunted by a desire to do 
goodf to help and succour the unfortunate. M. du Camp has por- 
trayed her character in a most graphic manner : impulsive, prone 
from childhood to adopt extreme measures, while in the convent she 
was given to rebellious and untrac table conduct, for which she was 
sent away. When she was twenty years old she married ; the love 
she bore her husband and two sons was deep and ardent. Three 
years after her marriage she had the unspeakable grief of losing both 
husband and sons at one fell stroke. After this occurrence her life 
had but one aim, ceaselessly and untiringly to succour and help the 
sorrowful. One day she was told that a woman, disfigured by a cu- 
taneous disease, was lying in an attic in Lyons, abandoned by every 
one. She went at once to her, ministered to her, and every day went 
to wash her sores. Thus was suggested to her the founding of the 
association of *' Les Dames du Calvaire,** of which we have already 
spoken, and the idea of pressing into the service of the sick, widows 
who found themselves in the same position as herself. She was not 
rich, but being an untiring and determined worker, capable of at- 
tacking the same person ten times a day» she obtained money. When 
they had to convey the sick to the new hospital, there was among 
them one woman so horribly disfigured by burns that no conveyance 
could be found whose driver was willing to take her. Jeanne Gamier 
then took her on her own shoulders and carried her there herself. 
The association of ** Les Dames du Calvaire" was not the only chari- 
table work which owes its existence to her. She conceived a great 
many other plans, of which many were carried out, for she never 
ceased working, up to the moment of her death, which occurred at 
forty-two years of age, of exhaustion. 

In the United States, where woman enjoys much greater freedom 
than in Europe, she makes an excellent use of her liberty. In fact, 
all associations of women have a charitable end in view ; and these 
societies not being subjected to the severe rules of Catholic religious 
orders, and not requiring from their members so absolute a renuncia- 



tiora of the pleasures of life, exhibit the most perfect and most modern 
form of charitable associations, which have been known up to the 
present day. The first woman's club that was founded in that coun- 
try, the Sorosis, has for its object the amelioration of the condition 
of shop-girls : it has also founded asylums for homeless children. 
The Temperance Union, founded by women, seeks to stem the tide 
of intemperance. The Women's League has obtained the admission 
of women on commissioners' boards for schools and hospitals. The 
College Settlement Girls, composed of female graduates from uni- 
versities, carry heli> into the purlieus of the city.* 


Is w^oman kind or cruel ? Can we reconcile these two series of 
facts, so contradictory in themselves ? That is the question which 
now comes before us. Let us seek, first of all, the origin and the 
genesis of feminine cruelty. We have seen women exhibiting great 
ingenuit}' in torturing ; she does not wish to destroy her enemies, but 
to torment and torture them ; she seeks to protract their pain as 
long as possible, and to lengthen out her enjoyment of vengeance. 
On this point woman goes much further tlian man : for among sav- 
ages men do not amuse themselves by prolonging the miseries of 
their enemies ; they rather wTeak their vengeance by killing them 
at one stroke. Savages often make a wholesale carnage, massacr- 
ing whole tribes and nations. But it is always the woman who prac- 
tices the art of killing a man by inches, over a slow fire, as it were. 
Thus we find that the redskins give their prisoners of war over to 
their women. Notice, even at the present day, the difference be- 
tween the quarrels of men and women. Women scratch each other, 
tear out the hair, fly at the eyes of their adversaries, trying to inflict 
some painful wound : men give blows and stabs : they strive to dis- 
able or stun their enemy, or to destroy him. There is the same 
difference but on a smaller scale. This aptitude in inflicting pain is 
an oiUgrowtli of weakness. We know from the Darwinian theory of 


♦ TMtr Ferum. 1891. 



natural selection, and from the struggle for life, that every living 
being must be provided with a certain number cl means of defense 
and offense, and amongst these means must be classed many in* 
stincts and sentiments which spring from natttral selection^ adapta- 
tion, and heredity'. The cruelt}* of woman is one of these instincts 
and sentiments. Woman not being powerful enough to destroy her 
enemies, had to seek for the means of defending herself, by wounding 
their more delicate organs, by inflicting such acute pain as would 
serve to disable them. This tendency to protect one's self by such 
means has become instinctive by heredit>* ; and so much the more 
since the woman who was able thus to defend herself, had at the 
outset of man's evolution a far better chance of survival. 

All this is so true, that we find other weak creatures also to be 
cnieL Children take pleasure in tormenting insects, birds, or little 
dogs, and are very cruel to each other. I knew a child who used to 
cut his nails like the teeth of a saw, in order to inflict more painful 
scratches on his companions. Humming birds, says Brehm, are 
the smallest and the cm el est of birds. When they are attacked by 
a more powerful enemy they tr\' to peck out his eyes with their long, 
sharp beaks. The struggle for hfe and natural selection has provided 
their weakness with this means of defense, and they are even cruel to 
each other when they fight, to such an extent has the sentiment of 
cruelty' in them become instinctive. 

And now we must seek for the genesis of the other phenom- 
enon, pity. It is a notorious fact, that maternity being the great 
function of woman, through the whole order of animal life, with the 
exception of some few fishes, it is always the female who is thus the 
benefactress of the race. Maternity is always an altruistic function ; 
in the inferior orders this altruism is a purely physical act, and con- 
sists merely in a material sacrifice ; (the detaching of a portion of 
the maternal body, under the form of bud, or egg ;) in the higher 
orders, this altruism becomes psychical and consists in a conscious 
sacrifice of self and of vitality in the interests of the race. 

What then is the essential nature of these altruistic sacrifices? 
Maternity is protection given to weakness ; for the infant is above 
all other created things a being requiring succour. 



It is thus that, the images relating to the state of weakness being 
in great numbers strongly impressed on the mind of woman, when 
one of them presents itself to her, by the law of association it 
awakens all those maternal sentiments whose function it is to help 
the weak. At first, motherhood only extends from a w^o man's own 
children to those of others ; this is the first stage of pity, such as we 
find it in the animals and among many undeveloped savage peoples. 
Afterwards in a region of higher psychical development the senti- 
ment of pity broadens till it embraces a wider group, the sick, the 
aged, those condemned to death ; for all those unfortunates who 
claim the pity of woman are the weak appealing for help to the 
strong. It is only the weak who can inspire pity. Thus pity, in 
woman, is but the outgrowth of the maternal sentiment applied to 
a larger class of helpless people. ** Woman/' says M. du Camp, 
**may bind herself by the religious vow of chastity ; but she is a 
l)orn mother and remains a mother, even though circumstances may 
have broken the physical law of her sex. The Litde Sisters of the 
Poor, call their pensioners 'the good little old men/ and themselves 
*the good little sisters,' their superior *tlie good little mother.' 
With them everybody is good and little ; all these expressions are 
the reflection of maternal love/' 

We must mention also, that one cause of a livelier sense of pity 
in woman, is her own weakness and her lower intellect- ** Anger/' 
writes A. Bain, **the passion for war, are bound up with activity and 
strength ; conditions of weakness and of repose are favorable to the 
softer sentiments." Strong men who display great muscular or men- 
tal activity, and who often experience the satisfactions arising from 
power, only realise with extreme difficulty the feelings of the weak ; 
for, as H. Spencer remarks,* **to feel pity for any suffering which 
we witness, %ve must have experienced it ourselves to the same ex- 
tent or in an approximate degree. *' Thus healthy persons become, 
after a serious sickness, more feeling than they formerly were for 
those w^ho are suffering; women are continually in a state of ill- 

^ Spencer. FrintifUs of Psythoiogy, IT, p. 648, 



Besides which women have not been involved in the struggle 
for life, as have men during the whole process of evolution : this 
struggle for life implying, as it does, the necessity of pursuing one*s 
own object irrespective of the ills which it may entail on the unhappy 
competitors, and often rendering a man insensible to the sorrows of 
those around him. To this we add, that love for man has not been 
without influence in developing the sense of pity in woman. The 
main characteristic of the love of woman tow^ards man, is self -abne- 
gation and devotion ; woman finds her happiness in devotion to the 
man she loves and in making for him the most painful sacrifices. 
Read the ** Letters of Heloise»" the ^^Life of Carlyle," or the *«Life 
of Mme. de Lespinasse,'' Each woman, carries hidden in her heart, 
an inexhaustible treasure of devotion which heredity has added to 
through all the centuries, during which woman has lived in contact 
with man and sought to win his good- will, displaying an affection 
and an ardent zeal in his behalf ; nothing then is easier than to spend 
this treasure on the unhappy, when she has not found the man on 
whom to lavish it. 

The close relationship between pity, maternity, and love, is also 
show^n by this fact, that the heroines of charity are almost always 
widows without sons, or unmarried women. When a woman has a 
husband or sons to love and cherish, she does not feci the same ten- 
derness towards the suffering ; this goes to prove that if these two 
sentiments are interchangeabiej they are but two different forms ol 
the same thing. 


We are now in a position to answer the question: Is woman 
kind or cruel? Pity and cruelty coexist together in her ; we might 
call this state in woman a state of unstable equilibrium ; to-day she 
is kind, divinely good, charitable ; to-morrow she w^ill be perverse 
and cruel. On one side her feebleness renders her cruel, and her 
impulsive nature prevents her from repressing the outbursts of anger 
and of vengeance ; on the other hand, the gentle habits of maternal 
affection, her lower intelligence, and even the weakness of her nature 
develop in her kindly sentiments. \Voman may experience the 



Strongest feelings of maternal affection at the sight of a helpless 
creature : but that will not prevent her from cruelly persecuting a 
rival, especially if she has been wounded in her sentiments of wife or 
mother. Thus woman, who is the natural protector of the weak, 
treats them oftentimes with a cruelty of which man is totally inca* 
pahle. Woman loves, hates, consoles, inflicts pain, according as 
she finds herself in the presence of a friend, an enemy, a helpless 
being, or of a rival. 

Many of the fiercest heroines of the Paris Communej had been 
trained nurses during the war, and distinguished for their devotion to 
the sick. There is nothing astonishing in this, for contradiction in 
feeling is so often a psychical law that a great Italian philosopher, 
Robert Ardigo, has said that man is not a logical being. 

We have noticed before that w^eakness is in part the cause of 
cruelty and partly also of pity, and this accounts for the coexistence 
of the two contrary sentiments. They coexist because they have a 
common origin. But this instability of equilibrium is lessened by 
evolution, and pity becomes stronger than cruelty. Among civilised 
nations the cruelty of women has become merely a moral attitude : 
the civilised woman, less powerful than her savage sister, no more 
subjects her enemies to physical pain, does not shed their blood ; 
she contents herself with slandering them, turning them into ridicule, 
and humiliating them. The diminution of muscular strength is in 
itself favorable to the softening of female character. 

Furthermore, sexual selection also helps in this ; in the human 
race as civilisation advances the male assumes more and more the 
right of selection, and man shrinks instinctively from meeting in a 
woman a high development of the qualities which he himself posses- 
ses, for he wishes to dominate her and to he her superior. This ex- 
plains to us the singular fact, which we notice every day, that of a 
savant marrying a stupid or unintelligent wife; this is why the nor- 
mal man, as also the vicious, choose gentle and good women when 
they desire to found families. If sometimes the choice falls on a 
wicked woman, it is because the man desires to form a criminal co- 
partnership, such as was perhaps the normal condition of family life 
during the early days of human evolution. Man}^ of the domestic 



tragedies which we witness to-day can be traced to no other cause 
than this f*€n€hant of the male, even of the vicious, to choose the 
woman who appears to be the most gentle. Women with their clear 
penetration and sure instincts have seized upon this inclination in 
man and made capital out of it with infinite ability: do we not see 
many young women simulate a gentleness, a sweetness, and kindness 
which they do not naturally possess in order 10 capture the good-will 
of men ? Women have thus practised the habit of repressing their 
evil penchants^ through interested motives, because they saw that 
men chose the most gentle among them as wives* 

Besides sexual selection, physical grace plays a conspicuous 
part, as well as those psychical qualities which are associated with 
it. Man having set a high value on graceful demeanour, woman 
sought and still seeks with all her strength to adorn herself with it. 

We know that by the law of association between the emotional 
states and tlieir outward expression, which mutually correspond, 
each gesture, each attitude, and each graceful expression of the 
countenance has a tendency to throw the mind into sojne sweet and 
peaceful condition ; this is why the culture of physical grace has 
been for woman an exercise of goodness^ This fostering of physical 
beauty has had a beneficial influence on her moral character. We 
might say that as woman grew in beauty, she became better. Finally 
woman being in the present day more respected than in former times, 
she has less often the occasion to exercise her instinctive cruelty, 
which on this account is being gradually obliterated. Pity each day 
becomes more and more the normal state of the feminine mind, and 
cruelty the exception. In order to be cruel, a woman's character 
must be perverted, as is the case in female criminals, whose vice ex- 
ceeds that of man in similar circumstances. Or she must have re- 
ceived some deep provocation, wounding her profoundly in her 
deepest and tenderest sentiments, which has awakened the original 
cruelty slumbering latent in the depths of her heart. 

We may thus predict that in the ages to come, woman will 
become entirely good. 




PROFESSOR HAECKEL, in his article ^^Our Monism,"* pro^ 
pounds tlie theory of Panpsychism, which he considers as an 
essential feature of Monism. He says : 

•*One highly important principle of my monism seems to me to b€ that 1 regard 
«// matter as tnsotiied, that is to saj\ as endowed with feeling (pleasure and paio) 
and with motion, or, better, with the power of motion. As elementary {atomistic) 
attraction and repulsion these powers are asserted in every simplest chemical pro- 
cess, and on them is based also e\^ry other phenomenon, consequently also the 
highest developed sou I -activity of man. 

"Simplest example: sulphur and quicksilver rubbed together form cinnabar, 
a new body of entirely different properties. This is possible only on the supposition 
that the molecules (or atoms) of the two elements if brought within the proper dis- 
tance, mutually /iv/ each other, by attraction move toward each other ; on the de- 
composition of a simple chemical compound the contrary takes place : repulsion 
{Empedocles's doctrine of ' the love and hatred of atoms.')" 

Not being able to accept Professor HaeckePs doctrine of Pan- 
psychism, I propose what might best he called Panbiotism, briefly 
set forth in the maxim nar (iioarov \ that is, everything is fraught 
with life ; it contains Hfe ; it has the ability to live* 

The word jiiojTo^ is mostly used by Greek authors in the nega- 
tive, as in the phrase fiiov ov fitctyjoi^ an un livable life^ in the sense 
of a life unendurable or not worth living. Thus Sophocles and others. 
Tlie word fiiuno^ is embodied in the term Panbiotism in its etymo- 
logical sense of ** livable. '^ 

« The Monist, VoL II. No. 4, 



1 am willing to concede to Professor Haeckel that all nature is 
alive* Indeed, I Imve most emphatically insistL-d on the doctrine 
that there is a spontaneity pervading all nature. (See *• Fundamental 
Problems,'* 2d ed., pp, no et seqq. ) 

By spontaneity is to be understood that kind of activity which 
springs from the nature of the being or thing which is active. A motion 
that is caused by pressure or push is not spontaneous ; but a motion, 
the motive power of which resides in the moving object, is spon- 
taneous. Thus a cart rolling down a hiM by its own weight performs 
a spontaneous motion, but when drawn by horses moves, or rather 
is moved, by pull without any spontaneity.* Now everything that 
exists IS possessed of certain qualities; its existence is of some defi- 
nite, peculiar kind, and this its peculiar kind is the character of the 
thing. In the character of a thing lies the source of its spontaneous 
actions. The spontaneous actions of the chemical elements depend 
upon their qualities, which always react under certain circumstances 
in a definite way, and under the same conditions in the same w^ay. 
The action of sulphur and quicksilver lies in the nature of these ele- 
ments. Their union is not passive, but active. They are not com- 
bined, but they do combine. lie who observes and studies nature 
cannot be blind to the fact that an inalienable, intrinsic powder is 
resident in everj' thing that exists. This is true not only of organised 
life, but also of the chemical ulements as well as of gravitating mas- 
ses. The motion of a falling stone can. no more than the actions of 
oxydising substances, be considered as ultimately due to an extra- 
neous pressure that makes them move by push, or to a ris a iergo 
acting upon inert matter. These motions must be spontaneous ; 
they are due to powers inherent in the nature of reality. They are 
self-motions, and in this sense we say that all nature is alive. 

The term ** life '* is here used in a broader sense than ordinarily. 
It means spontaneity or self-motion, while in its common significa- 
tion the term **life" is restricted only to the spontaneous action of 

♦ Spontaneous motion (as here defined} da«s not mean action wilhoul a cause; 
nor does the spontaneity of the cart exclude the co-operation of other spontaneities 
{€. f the atlraciion of the earth) entering as factors in tiringing atiout the final 



organised beings, i, e. of plants and animals. In order to distin- 
guish life in the broader sense from the narrower or common accept- 
ance of the term, we call the latter ** organised life/' 

It is not impossible, and 1 consider it even as most probable, 
that the difference between Professor Haeoiel and myself rests on 
a different usage of the term souL But a vague or inconsistent 
usage of the term, unless we are especially careful in so defining it 
as to prevent misunderstandings, will inevitably beget errors. Thus 
the doctrine of Panpsychism is liable to lead to fantastic ideas, and 
to cause great confusion concerning the activity of what is generally 
called inanimate nature. 

Soul (as I understand the term) is a system of sentient symbols. 

The problem of the origin of the soul is solved as soon as we 
understand how feelings can acquire meaning. 

Suppose we have some sentient substance exposed to the impres- 
sions of the surrounding world. The sense-impressions of the sur- 
rounding world leave traces in the sentient substance ; these traces, 
which are structures of a certain form corresponding exactly to the 
various impressions, are preserved and constitute a predisposition to 
being very easily revived by impressions of the same kind. The re- 
vival of feeling in traces left in the sentient structure from former 
impressions is called memory. If a new impression of the same kind 
as the traces of the former impressions affects a sentient being, the 
new impression already finds a convenient path for its reception pre- 
pared. Its peculiar vibration fits in the old trace and thus runs along 
very easily in the memory- grooves of former impressions, reviving at 
the same time the feelings perceived at their original formation. The 
feeling thus caused is composed of several elements, which naturally 
melt into one : firstj there is that kind of feeling which is produced 
by the present impression ; secondly, there is the revival of former 
feelings or memory-sensations ; and thirdly, there is a feeling of con- 
gruence resulting from the combination of these two. This third 
element is a new and a very important feature. We suppose that it 
is extremely insignificant in the beginning, but being a constantly 
growing factor, it rapidly increases in importance. The stronger 
and the more independent the memory-structures become, the more 



clearly will their congrut^nce with fresh sense- impressions be felt as 
a congruence. 

This feeling of congruence is the simplest form of what psy* 
chologists generally call *' recognition." 

The recognition of a sense-impression, as being the same as 
some former sense-impression, adds to the feeling a new quality ; it 
imparts meaning to it. This feeling of a special kind will now stand 
for something- In this way impressions upon sentient substance 
will, in the course of their natural development, simply by the repe- 
tition of similar and same impressions, come to indicate the presence 
of certain conditions that cause the impression. This act of indicat- 
ing something, of symbolising the presence of a reality, of possessing 
meaning, is the birth of soul. Sense-impressions that have acquired 
meaning are called sensations. A sensation standing for a special 
object symbolises that object. Abstract ideas are symbols of a higher 
degree, but they remain symbols just the same. And it is the sen- 
tient symbols which constitute the souL 

Those actions which are regulated by the meanings of sentient 
symbols of which a soul consists should alone, according to a strict 
terminology, be called ** psychical.** The falling stone, the chemical 
elements, when combining or separating, etc.. are alive ; there is a 
spontaneously acting power even in imorganised nature ; but the ac- 
tions of unorganised nature are not determined by the meaning of 
feelings, and, in truth, we have no reason to believe that their feel- 
ings — granting that they really do possess feelings of some kind — are 
freighted with even so much as the slightest inkling of significance. 
In a word, there is no soul in the stone ; there is no mind in the 
water-fall ; and there is nothing psychical in either oxygen or hydro- 
gen. But there is soul wherever meaning can be found as the regu- 
lating motive of actions ; there is purpose. And wherever purpose 
is, there is mind. 


Professor Haeckel goes still farther in the application of his 
theory of Fanpsychism : he speaks of the atoms not only as feeling 
each other, but also as having pleasure and pain. This indicates 



either that he is serious in liis belief in the psychical nature of all 
things, or it proves how dangerous it is to introduce an allegorical 
expression the allegorical character of which is from the beginning 
lost sight of. 

What are pleasure and pain? 

Pleasure and pain are known to us l>y experience ; they are 
feelings. Pleasure is an agreeable, pain a disagreeable feeling. 

Pleasure and pain are different from sensation. Sensations are 
representative of certain somethings called objects. Pleasures and 
pains, however, are not representative, they are purely subjective 
states. There may be pleasurable or painful sensations, and there 
may be pain indicating the presence of pain-producing objects, but 
that does not concern us now. When speaking of pleasure and pain 
we do not refer to the representative value of feelings, but consider 
a merely subjective aspect* pleasure being the agreeableness, pain 
the disagreeableness of feeling. 

Accordingly pleasure and pain presuppose the existence of an 
organised system of feelings. An isolated feeling, we have learned* 
is meaningless ; it is still less pleasurable or painful. In order to 
agree or disagree, there must be something with which to agree or 
disagree. Therefore, although pleasure and pain are not symbols 
indicative of some objective presence, they can take place only in 
sentient organisms, in systems of feelings, in souls. Where these 
complex conditions, indicative of the presence of a soul, are absent, 
we have no right to speak of the presence of pleasure and pain. 

We cannot interpret the phenomena of unorganised nature as 
being endowed with feelings of pleasure and pain. Pleasure and 
pain are psychical phenomena, and psychical phenomena can take 
place in souls only. 

We might as well speak of the presence of positive and nega- 
tive electricity in the cataract, the water-powxr of which is employed 
to produce electricity. Electricity is, in such a case, transformed 
water-power ; but can we, for that reason, say that the motion of 
water is either positive or negative electricity ? 

Ail the motions of the objective world must be supposed to 
have their subjective correlates ; but the simplest forms of objective 



phenomena cannot have those subjective correlates which, accor- 
ding to our experience, appear and have their conditions of appear- 
ance only in the most complex and highest developed forms of exist- 
ence — in organised nature. 

* * 

The physiological conditions of pleasure and pain are now just 
beginning to be investigated (see Goldscheider's article in Diibois- 
Reyniond's Arc/uv, 1891), and most philosophical theories concern- 
ing the nature of pleasure and pain are mere assumptions. Almost 
all the views that are now current attempt an explanation by gen- 
eralising the idea of pleasure and pain so as to regard the feelings 
of pleasure and pain as a universal feature of nature. This vicious 
method of generalisation at the cost of discrimination has produced 
much confusion in the world ; and its influence is the more perni- 
cious as average minds are easily satisfied with generalities. 

Now, the theory of making pleasure and pain universal features 
of existence is a palpably erroneous theory ; it is a wrong generali- 
sation. It is true that sentient beings naturally seek pleasure and 
avoid pain. But are we allowed, according to the laws of logic, to 
transfer the special feature of the case to the whole class of all pro- 
cesses where a seeking and an avoiding can be observed? Certainly 
nott Because sentient beings are repelled by pain and attracted by 
pleasure, we cannot say that every repulsion is due to pain and 
that every attraction is due to pleasure* 

The theory according to which pleasure and pain alone are the 
causes of attraction and reptilsion we may fairly consider as a poet- 
ical license justifiable within certain narrow limits, and actually justi- 
fied in so far as there is in every natural process some peculiar 
feature that is analogous to the feelings of sentient beings. This 
peculiar feature— viz. its subjectivity— is, as we have seen, not vis- 
ible, not observable ; yet it exists : it is that something which in 
the course of evolution becomes, in special combinations, first feel- 
ing and then consciousness. But for that reason it is not as yet 
either consciousness or feeling. 

While on the one hand the theories of pleasure and pain that 
regard pleasure and pain as universal features of natural pheno- 




niena, are arrived at by a wrong method of generalisation, we find 
on the other hand they do not agree with facts. They neither ex- 
plain nor account for the appearance or disappearance of real pleas- 
ures and pains such as take place in animal life. 

* * 

Starting from merely theoretical considerations, Kant defines 
pleasure as a feeling of furtherance, pain, as a feeling of hindrance 
of life ; and so prominent a physiologist and psychologist as Alexan- 
der Bain says that ** States of pleasure are connected with an in- 
crease, states of pain, with an abatement of some or of all the vital 

A consideration of the actual causes of our pleasures and pains 
will prove the incorrectness of these views» which are also due to 
wrong generalisations. An increase of the vital functions and a fur- 
ther growth, either of the organs or of the whole organism, is very 
often accompanied with pain. A growing tooth causes, as a rule, 
as much pain as a decaying tooth. And if by some drug the decay 
is hastened and the nerve is killed, there is, connected with the sup- 
pression and sometimes with the mere abatement of the vital func- 
tion, an abatement of the pain also. 

Feelings of pleasure and pain presuppose that habits have been 
formed in a sentient organism. 

Pain is not always a hindrance of life, nor is every hindrance 
of life painful. Pain is not an abatement of the functions of life, 
not a decay, nor a destruction. But pain is always a disturbance of 
life and of the habits that have been formed. 

Growth is, under certain circumstances, as much a disturbance 
as is decay. And decay, if it is simply an abatement or cessation of 
function, is not accompanied with pain. 

While pain is always a disturbance of the functions of an organ- 
ism, pleasure is simply the gratification of wants ; functions and 
wants being formed by habits, we may brierty say that pleasure is 
agreement, pain disagreement, with habits, , 

There are natural wants and unnatural wants. There are habits 
beneficial to the furtherance of life, and there are habits injurious 
to the furtherance of life. The pleasure connected with the gratifi- 



cation of wants does not depend on its being a furtherance or a 
hindrance of life, but solely on the intensity of the want. And 
the intensity of the want, again, depends on the degree to which a 
habit has become inveterate.* 

The theory of pleasure and pain which regards pleasure as in- 
dicative of the growth, and pain, of the decay of life, leads ultimately 
to the ethics of hedonism, which identifies the good whh tlae pleas- 
urable. However, if our vie%v of pleasure and pain be correct, it is 
apparent that the pleasure theor}^ in ethics is wrong in its very foun- 
dation. The pleasurable would cease to be a criterion of goodness ; 
for many things are pleasurable that are bad, and many things are 
painful that are good. Growth, development, progress, evokuion 
have often been, nay must mostly be bought with great pain, tribu- 
lation, anxiety, and also with the renunciation of pleasures. On the 
other hand the fulness of pleasure is always a very dangerous symp- 
tom for any state of existence. 

The seeking of pleasure and the avoiding of pain are certainly 
very questionable guides in determining what right conduct is. In 
adopting pleasure and pain as the principles of ethics, we adulterate 
the nature of morality ; for morality exists and has been called into 
being simply to counteract the dangerous allurances of that which 
promises to produce pleasure and to avoid pain. Ethics has to leach 
us how to live, how to develop, how to grow, how to make our lives 
useful and serviceable- If ethics were simph^ a method of how to 
obtain the greatest amount of pleasure, we might better openly con- 
fess that there is no moral goodness but only pleasurableness, and 
consequently that morality is a chimera and ethics a farce. 

A defender of the pleasure theory in ethics writes in reply to 
this criticism of his view : "To seek pleasure and to avoid pain is 

♦ This theory of pleasure and pain was first set forth in an editonat article 
of No. 120 of T/ii* Optn Court, which has been republished in the chapter "Pleas- 
ure and Pain." pp 338-345. of 77;^* Si*ul i^f Man A correct view of the nature of 
pleasure and pain is of great importance, especially m ethics. Notwithstanding the 
palpable erroneonsness of the old view, several articles written by prominent authors 
hive appeared of late, that continue in the old strain without taking notice of the 
critictsm that overthrows the basis of their theories. 



not wrong. Why shall we deprive men of their enjoyments? " Cer- 
tainly, everyone has a right to enjoy himself ; every one has a right 
to seek pleasure and to avoid pain. But seeking pleasure and avoid- 
ing pain is not as yet ethical. Under ordinar>^ circumstances it is 
right enough to follow the natural impulses of seeking pleasure and 
avoiding pain. But there are cases where seeking pleasure, be it for 
ourselves or for others, and avoiding pain, be it for ourselves or for 
others, become actual wrongs ; not because present pleasures will 
lead to future pains, but because certain pleasures are a hindrance 
to the higher evolution of the souL 

It is often said that the renunciation of pleasures is richly made 
up for by the pleasures which are afforded in a more fulty developed 
life. But this, in my opinion, is not true. The adult has rather less 
pleasures than the child, and the civilised or highly cultured man 
does not enjoy himself as much, as easily, and as cheaply as does the 
savage, the uncultured, the fooL 



Some time ago Mr. Thomas A, Edison was interviewed on the 
question, ** What is life? " Mr. Edison answered the question ; and 
his view is quite in accord with Professor Haeckel'S idea of panpsy- 
chism. The artij:le appeared first in a daily newspaper. Being re- 
markable for its coincidence with the views of a great scientist, and 
coming from the pen of so interesting a man as the famous inventor 
of the phonograph, we deem it best to republish it in full, with Mr. 
Edison's permission, who, at the same time, acknowledged the copy 
we sent him as correct; 

This is the article : 



My mind is not of a speculative order, it is essentially practical, and when I am 
making an experiment. I think only of getting something useful, of making elec- 
tricity perform \%'ork. 

I don't soar ; I keep down pretty close to earth. Of course there are problems 
in life 1 cant help thinking about, but 1 don't try to study them ont. It is necessary 
ihat they should be studied, and men fitted for that work are doing it I am not fitted 




lor it I leave the theoretical stady <rf electricity to the physicists, coDfiniog my 
work to the practical application of the force. It is my belief, however, that every 
atcnn of matter is Intelligent, deriving energy from the primordial germ. The in- 
teUtgeoce of man is, I take it, the sum of the intelligences of the atoms of which he 
is composed. Every atom has an intelligent power of selection and is always striv- 
ing to get into harmonious relation with other atoms The human body is, I think, 
maintained in its integrity by the intelligent persistence of its atoms, or rather by 
an agreement between the atoms so to persist. When the harmonious adjustment 
is destroyed the man dies, and the atoms seek other relations. 

I cannot regard the odor of decay but as the result of the efforts of the atoms 
to dissociate themselves ; tbey want to get away and make new combinations Man, 
therefore, may be regarded in some sort as a microcosm of atoms agreeing to con- 
stitute his life as lon^as order and discipline can be maintained. Bnt» of course, 
there b dissatisfaction, rebellion and anarchy leading eventually to death, and through 
death to new forms of life. For life I regard as indestructible. 

All matter lives, and everything that live^ possesses intelligence. Consider 
growing com, for example. An atom of oxygen comes Hying along the air It seeks 
combination with other atoms and goes lo the corn, not by chance, but by intention. 
It is seized by other atoms that need oxygen, and is packed away in the com where 
it can do its work. Now carbon, hydrogen and ootygen enter into the composition 
of every organic substance in one form of arrangement or another. The formula 
CHO, in fact, is almost universal. 

Very well, then, why does a free atom of carbon select any particular one out 
of 50,000 or more possible positions unless it wants to ? I cannot see how we can 
deny intelligence to this act of volition on the part of the atom. To say that one 
atom has an affinity for another is simply to nse a big word. The atom is conscious 
if man is conscious, is intelligent if man is intelligent, exercises will-power if man 
does, is, in its own little way, atl that man is. We are told by geologists that in the 
earliest periods no form of life could exist on the earth. 

How do they know that? A crystal is devoid of this vital principle, they say, 
and yet certain kinds of atoms invariably arrange themselves in a particular way lo 
form a crystal. They did that in geological periods antedating the appearance of 
any form of life and have been doing it ever since in precisely the same way. Some 
crystals form in branches like a fern. Why is there not life in the growth of a 
crystal ? Was the vital principle specially created al some particular period of the 
earth's history, or did it exist and control every atom of matter when the earth was 
molten? I cannot avoid the conclusion that all matter is composed of intelligent 
atotns and that life and mind are merely synonyms for the aggregation of atomic 

Of course there is a source of energy. Nature is a perpetual motion machine, 
and perpetuaJ motion implies a sustaining and impelling force. 

When I was in Berlin I met On Bois-Reymond, and. wagging the end of my 


THE M 0X1 ST* 

finger. I said lo him. " What is that ? What moves that ^nger ? '* He said he didn't 
know; that investigators have for twenty-five years been tr>'ing to find out If any- 
body could tell him what wagged this finger, the problem of life would be solved. 

There are many forms of energy resulting from the combustion of coal under 
a l>oiler. Some of these forms we know something about in a practical way, but 
there may be many others we don't know anything about. 

Perhaps electricity will itself be supersedesd in time, who knows? Now a beef- 
steak in the human stomach is equivalent to coal under a boiler. By oxidisation it 
excites energy that does work, but what form of energy is it ? It is not steam pres- 
sure. It acts through the nerve-cells, perforins work that can be measured io foot 
pounds, and can be transformed into electricity, but the actual nature of this force | 
which produces this work— which makes effectual the mandate of the will — is un- 

It is not magnetism, it doesn't attract iron. It is not electricity — at least such \ 
a form of electricity as we are familiar with. Still, here it is necessary to be guarded, 
because so many different forms of electricity are known to science that it would be 
rash to say positively that we shall not class vTtal energy as a form of electrical 
energy. We cannot argue anything from difference in speed. Nerve-force may 
travel as fast as electricity, once it gets started. The apparent slowness may be in 
the brain. It may take an appreciable time for the brain to set the force going. 

I made an experiment with a frog's leg that indicates something of the kind. I 
took a leg that was susceptible to galvanic current. The vibration produced a note 
that was as high as a piccoto. While the leg was alive it responded to the electrical 
current ; when it was dead it would not respond. After the frog's leg had been 
lying in the laboratory three days I couldn't make it squeal. The cvperiment was 
conclusive as to this point : The vital force in the nerves of the leg was capable of 
acting with speed enough to induce the vibratiori! of the diaphragm necessary to pro- 
duce sound. 

Certainly this rate of speed is greater than physiologists appear to allow, and 
it seems reasonable that there is a close affinity between vital energy and electricity. 
I do not say they are identical ; on the contrary I say they are very like. If one 
could learn to make vital energy directly without fuel, that is without beefsteak in 
the stomach, and in such manner that the human system could appropriate it, the 
elixir of life would no longer t>e a dream of alchemy. But we have not yet learned 
to make electricity directly, without the aid of fnel and steam. 

I believe this is possible : indeed, I have been experimenting in this direction 
for some time past. But until we can learn to make electricity, like nature, out of 
disturbed air, I am afraid the more delicate task of manufacturing vital energy so 
thai it can be bottled and sold at the family grocery store will have to be deferred. 

Electricity, by the way. is properly merely a form of energy, and not a fluid. 
As for the ether which speculative science supposes to exist, I don't know anything 
about it Nobody has discovered anything of the kind. In order to make their 



theories hold together they have, it seems to me, created the ether But the ether 
imagined fay them is imthinkahle to me. I don't say I disagree with them, because 
I don't pretend to have any theories of that kind, and am not competent to dispute 
with speculative scientists. All I can say is, my mind is unable to accept the the- 
ary< The ether, ihey say» is as rigid as steel and as soft as butter. I can't catch on 
to that idea, 

I believe that there are only two things in the universe — matter and energy. 
Matter 1 can understand to be intelligent, for man himself 1 regard as so much mat- 
ter. Energy I know can take various forms, and manifest itself in various ways, 
I can understand also that it works not only upon, but through, matter. What this 
matter is, what this energy is, I do not know% 

However, it is possible that it is simply matter and energy, and that any desire 
to know too much about the whole question should be diagnosed as a disease ; such 
a disease as German doctors are said to have discovered among the students of their 
universities — the disease of asking questions. 


Mn Thomas A. Edison's article is foil of suggestions which in- 
vite further discussion. We must here limit ourselves solely to those 
which touch the prolilem of Panpsychism and Fanhiotism. 

Any one who has read Mr. Edison's article will be struck with 
the strange coincidence that obtains between his and Professor 
Haeckers views. The famous naturalist considers what he calla 
panpsychism as the corner-stone of his monism : he says that atoms 
possess souls J and in a similar way the famous inventor beheves in 
the intelligence of atoms, he declares that atoms are endowed with 
minds. There is certainly a deep truth in this conception of nature; 
and yet we cannot accept it in the way it is presented by either Pro- 
fessor Haeckel or Mn Edison. 

With reference to Professor HaeckePs views we have explained 
why atoms, the actions of which are not endowed with meaning, 
have no soul, and also why they cannot feel pleasure and pain. It 
remains for us to explain why atoms are not in possession of intelli- 

What is intelligence? 

That reaction upon a stimulus which takes place in the way it 
does because of the presence of meaning, is called mental^ or in- 



telligent action ; and the ability to adjust action to mental represen- 
tations is intelligence- 
Intelligence is a psychical quality, and the psychical process 
which is preparing to act with intelligence is called deliberation. 
Deliberation is the successive revival of several soul-structures, either 
of memories of former experiences, or of rules derived therefrom, 
or of advice formerly received, including also new combinations of 
these mental structures, and keeping in view the probable results of 
the intended action. In a word, deliberation is thought, and thought 
is an interaction among meaning-freighted feelings. 

Among these ideas, which in so far as they can influence action 
(i* e. purposive motions) are called ** motives/' the strongest one will 
determine the result. Now, any atom of non -organised matter, say 
an atom of hydrogen, acts (as we said above) with spontaneity. It 
is in this sense as much alive as is any e¥er so complex vegetable or 
animal substance. It is self-acting, and its action reveals the inner- 
most nature of its being just as much as the action of the man shows 
the character of the man. 

There is, however, a great difference between the action of ani- 
mal beings whose action is regulated by the meanings of their feel- 
ings, which in their totality we call the soul, and the actions of inor* 
ganic matter, of crystals, minerals, gases, chemical elements, and 
gravitating masses, all of which we comprise under the name *Mn- 
animate nature." The stone's fall does not depend upon any rep- 
resentative feehng; it depends solely upon that quality of the stone 
which we popularly call its weight. Nor has the falling stone any 
choice whether to fall or not to falL Under certain circumstances 
it falls. There is no act of deliberation preceding the fall. Nor has 
it any choice concerning the direction of its fall. The surrounding 
conditions, viz., its position with regard to the centre of the earth to- 
gether with its mass, determine the process. The stone *s action can 
satisfactorily be explained without attributing to it psychical qual- 
ities. The stone possesses no soul ; it is void of mentality ; and al- 
though we believe that ever>thing, organised or unorganised, is en* 
do wed with subjectivity (by which we understand the conditions of 
psychical life, or the potentiality of feeling and consciousness), this 




subjectivity can only be analogous to the blind impulse of the stone*s 
mass. If some other, psychical or mental, subjectivity were pres- 
ent, we should say that it apparently does not enter as a factor in 
the determination of the event. Accordingly such an assumption is 
gratuitous. There is subjectivity, but there is no intelligence. There 
is potentiality of feeling, but there is no consciousness. There is 
present the elementary condition of that something which is going 
to develop into mind, but there is no mind ; there is no meaning- 
freighted awareness of the surrounding conditions. 
Says Mr. Edison : 

" The iateIHgeDce of man is, I take it, the sam of the intelligences of the atoms 
of which he is composed." 

The sum total of the intelligences of the atoms in a human body 
(if, in this connection, for the sake of argument, we grant that atoms 
are inteltigent) would not as yet make up the intelligence of man. 
Suppose we are contemplating a mosaic picture or inscription. Are 
such compositions really only the sum of the little stones ? Are they 
not rather a certain peculiar form in which these colored stones are 
arranged? It is not the sum of the stones that makes the picture, 
but the form of their composition. The picture is not contained in 
any single one of them, nor is it the whole number of all the single 
stones : it originates through Iheir peculiar combination and consists 
of the form in which they are combined. 

Mr. Edison's explanation of the soul, applied to this example of 
a mosaic picture, would be as follows : Every little stone is in itself 
a little mosaic picture. The whole picture of the mosaic is the sum 
of the little pictures of the stones of which it is composed. 

The intelligence of the soul, however, is not even as yet the 
form in which feeling structures combine ; it originates with the rep- 
resentative faculty of the feeling structures. The soul is the organised 
totality of a set of images and abstract mental symbols representing 
the qualities, the influences, and the interactions of the different ob- 
jects of the surrounding world, the thinking subject included. 

Says Mr. Edison : 

' Every atom has an intelligent power of selection, and is always striving to get 
nfo harmonious relation with other atoms/* 



The latter is true : the former is an error. Every atom ^* is al- 
ways striving to get into harmonious relation with other atoms'' j 
this is its nature ; and its nature being stable, consisting of cer- 
tain inalienable and intrinsic qualities, the atom acts with consist- 
ency. Certain atoms, say atoms of hydrogen, are of such a nature 
as to combine with certain other atoms, say atoms of oxygen, into 
molecules that form a certain substance of peculiar properties, which, 
if each atom of oxygen combines with two atoms of hydrogen, would 
be/Z'jO, or water. This substance again, having certain definite 
qualities, will in a temperature below freezing point crystallise at a 
definite angle. The angle of crystallisation being the same for all 
molecules H., O, the result will necessarily be one of most marvellous 
regularity. And not being able to observe the atoms in their secret 
activity, not knowing all the details of nature*s marvellous laboratory, 
we are astonished to find such a wonderfully harmonious relation. 
And yet, considering the nature of things, we are urged to confess 
that it is the result of an inevitable necessity, which takes place ac- 
cording to strict mathematical laws. 

Although every atom strives, according to its nature, to get into 
harmonious relation with other atoms, we do not see any ** intelligent 
power of selection " in the province of inorganic nature. Every atom 
of inorganic substances acts according to its nature in one and the 
same way throughout. There is no choice, no selection, allowed. 
Choice and selection are faculties that are reserved for the higher 
domains of psychical life, which originates in the domain of animal 
existence when meaning, conditioned by the presence of sentiency, 
rises into being and creates the soul. 

Supposing that through some combination of atoms their sub- 
jectivity be combined in such a form as to produce sentiency or feel- 
ing, we can very easily understand how this feeling will in time be- 
come representative of the conditions by which it is affected. The 
soul does not consist of the atoms of its organism, nor of the sum of 
the qualities of the atoms. The soul consists of something more 
subtle than matter : the soul consists of the meaning that is attached 
to the different forms of the feelings which obtain in living organisms. 




The problem as to whether or not there is an element of feeling 
present in the unorganised realm of nature, is connected also with the 
problem of theism. The monistic view of the world, which considers 
nature as alive throughout, can neither accept the old supernatural- 
ism^ nor the materialistic theory of atheism. Theism, as it is usually 
conceived, believes in a personal creator and ruler of the world. 
Materialism denies the existence of any God ; it regards matter and 
its actions as the only reality. 

Monism does not regard mental phenomena as an incidental by- 
play of blindly operating forces. It regards mind as a necessary pro- 
duct of reality. Mind and the peculiar qualities of mind are char- 
acteristic of the world -tree, of which it is the highest efflorescence we 
know. From the fruit we can know the root, from the product we 
can judge of the factors, in the creature we see the creator. 

That great something which has produced us, the All-powder in 
which we live and move and have our being, and obedience to the 
laws of which are the conditions of life, of welfare, and of an advance 
to higher life, is called with a popular religious name ♦*God." 

Let us comprise under the name ** theism" all those views 
which recognise any conception of God, and reserve the term an- 
thropotheisra for that view which regards God as a person, a mind, 
a conscious being, or a world -ego. Atheism in that case will be a 
negation of the existence of God in any form, a negation of the Ali- 
power of which we are parts and to which we have tu conform ; and 
accordingly atheism wilJ be also a negation of any authority of moral 

We call attention to the fact that many who call themselves 
atheists, simply because they do not believe in anthropotheism, are 
according to this definition not to be classed among the atheists. 

What has monism to say on the problem of the existence of 

Prof. George J. Romanes, in an article which appeared some 
time ago in the Contemporary Review under the title *' The W^orld as 



an Eject," declares that monism has left the problem of theism in 
the same state it was in before. He says : 

'* The views of the late Professor Clifford concerning the influence of moQism 
on theism, are unsound. I am in full agreemeot with him in believing that monism 
is destined to become the generally accepted theory of things, seeing that it is the 
only theory of things which can receive the sanction of science on the one hand, and 
of feeling on the other But I disagree with him m holding that this theory is fraught 
with implications of an anti-theistic kind. In my opinion, M/j theory leaves the 
question of iheism very mmh lohere it was he/ore* That is to say, while not furnish- 
ing any independent proof of theism, it likewise fails to furnish any independent 

"As a matter of methodical reasoning it appears to me that monism alone can 
only lead lo agnosticism. That is to say, it leaves a clear field of choice as between 
theism and atheism, "f 

Clifford says in the passage referred to by Professor Romanes : 

"Reason, intelligence, and volition are properties of a (Complex which is made 
up of elements themselves not rational, not intelligent, not conscious." 

Rational, intelligent^ conscious beings, so far as their material 
existence is concerned, are made up of elements not rational, not in- 
teliigent, not conscious. But mind, reason, intelligence are hot at all 
made up of material elements ; they are neither latent nor germinal 
and least of all fully developed properties of the single atoms. Rea- 
son can in our conception never be explained as a complex result of 
the interaction of absolutely irrational elements. The material ele- 
ments of the world, it is true, are not intelligent, not conscious ] but 
the world as a whole (although not conscious and not endowed with 
purposive volition) is at least not //Tational and not void of deter- 
mination. On the contrary the world as a whole is the prototype of 
all rationality, and human reason is a mere image of the world-order. 
What is the reason of a rational being but an incarnation of tliis 

Reason is not a thing of matter ; exactly so the world-order is 
not a thing of matter. But it exists none the less ; it is a reality, 

* Itniics are mtrs. 

\ This same position is maintained with equal vigor in l^roffssor Romanes's 
latest work Darwin ami After Darunn, pp. 412 442. The Open Court Fuhlishing 
Co., 1892. 



On the other hand, the world-order need neither be a personal being 
nor the work of a personal being. The order that prevails in the 
real world and in the laws of nature appears also in the ideal world, 
in the laws of formal thought, in mathematics, and its kindred 
sciences; and the same rationality that obtains in the ideal domain 
permeates the realms of reality, the universe of objective existence. 

The idea that God created the world-order and dictated its laws 
is a fanciful and poetical allegory ; it is as such a pagan notion which 
belongs in the same category with He^iod's Cosmology, but it is 
scientifically and philosophically unthinkable. For God is eternal and 
God*5 being is eternal. God has not created his own attributes and 
the world -order is simply an attribute of God ; it is part and parcel 
of his nature. Or can you think of God ^-nthout that attribute of 
irrefragable order that appears to science as necessity, to religion 
as holiness, to ethics as justice, to art as the law of beauty, to the 
mystic as the key to all the wonders of existence which though solv- 
ing all the problems remains most wonderful itself? 

The world as a whole, the cosmos, God, or whatever we call 
the One and All, is the prototype of all reason, but he is not a mind; 
he is not a system of sentient symbols ; he is not a soul. Minds are 
a special kind of God's creatures ; but God is not a creature : he is 
the condition of the existence of creatures, he is the creator. 

The objection is made from materialistic quarters : **What is 
the world as a whole but the sum of all atoms t '' This is an error. 
The world is not merely the sum of all its atoms ; the universe does 
not consist of innumerable little particles which in their combination 
form the AIL On the contrary : the world as a whole, existence in 
its oneness, or speaking religiously God, is alone the only true real- 
ity; all other things and beings are parts of him. Atoms are abstract 
concepts; the existence of an atom and of its actions presupposes 
the existence of the great whole of which it is a part, and without 
which it would have no reality. There are no atoms in themselves. 
Atoms regarded as things in themselves are a scientific superstition. 

Professor Romanes advances the proposition, that cosmical 
events, being as highly complex as ner\'ous phenomena, might be 
possessed of a similar subjectivity. The nervous phenomena which 


constitute the physiological action of mind in the provmce of objec- 
tivity are, it is true, very complex, but complexity does not constitute 
that characteristic feature on the presence of which depends the 
origin of mind. 

Professor Romanes says : 

"Both mind and matter 'm motion admit of degrees : first as to quantity, next 
as to velocity, and lastly as to compUxity. But the degrees of matter in motion are 
found, in point of observable fact, not to correspond with those of mind, save in the 
last particular of complexity, where there is unqoestionably an evident corre- 

"Now, if we fix our attention merely on this subject-matter of complexity, and 
refuse to be led astray by obviously false analogies of a more special kind, I think 
that there can be no question that the macrocosm does furnish amply sufficient op- 
portunity, as it were, for the presence of subjectivity, even if it be assumed that sub- 
jectivity can only be yielded by an order of complexity analogous to that of a ner- 
vous system. For, considering the natural and dynamical system of the universe 
as a whole, it is obvious that the complexity presented is greater than any of its 
parts. Not only is it true that all these parts are included in the wholCf and that 
even the visible sidereal system alone presents movements of enormous intricacy, 
but we find, for instance, that even within the limits of this small planet there is 
presented to actual observation a peculiar form of circumscribed complex, fully com- 
parable to that of the individual brain, and yet external to each individual brain. 
For the so-called social organism." although composed of innumerable individual 
personalities, is, with regard to each of its constituent units* a part of the objective 
world — just as the human brain would be, were each of its constituent cells of a 
construction sufficiently complex to yield a separate personality/* 

The so-called social organism which is composed of innumer- 
able personalities undoubtedly yields a peculiar spiritual existence, 
which cannot be explained solely as the sum of the parts and actions 
of its constituent individuals. The relations in which the members 
of society stand to each other are of an analogous importance to 
the relations of the cells and organs in an organism. It is the form 
that constitutes this or that kind of an organism, not the sum of 
atoms, nor the intricacy or complexity of their combinations. Dif- 
ferent forms of perhaps the same material amount, and of the same 
intricacy of combination, yield quite distinct types of individuaHty, 
and every state, every nation, every society^ possesses, as it were a 
personality of its own. 



Mind is not constituted by complexity. Mind is a system of 
sentient symbols. Wherever we find organisms acting in such a way 
tliat their actions depend upon the mtaftinj^s of certain stimuh, we 
have to attribute to them that characteristic feature which we call 
mind, or soul. The action of a falling stone is explainable without 
attributing to it any mentality. There is no representative value, 
no meaning in that quality of the stone which, under certain con- 
ditions, makes the stone falL However, if a man acts, the motive 
of his action does not consist in the gravity of certain material par- 
ticles of his brain. It consists in the meaning thai resides in certain 
feelings. Without taking into consideration the meaning that dom- 
inates the man's motives, we cannot explain his action, and it is the 
meaning of feelings that the soul consists of. Only where and when 
we can discern the presence of meaning as the raison d* etre of ac- 
tions, are we justified in calling phenomena mental. When the 
action that takes place in response to a stimulus depends solely upon 
the significance of a symbol, the inference is legitimate, nay, it is in- 
evitable and conclusive, that we have to deal with a mind. The mo- 
tion of a comet, which depends perhaps not only upon the gravity 
of its mass, but also upon the chemical actions and explosions of its 
constituent elements during its approach to the sun, may he ever so 
intricate; but this does not in the least justify the assumption of the 
presence of mind in the comet. 

The assumption of mind in inorganic nature is not only fan- 
tastical, it is also needless. Facts are better explained without this 

The world as a whole is not bare of subjectivity. In this we 
agree with both Clifford and Romanes. But we do not identify 
subjectivity and mind, the latter being a special and indeed a very 
complex form of subjectivity. We suppose that subjectivity per- 
vades also all the processes of unorganised nature, and no less the 
cosmic events; but be they ever so much more complex than nervous 
phenomena, there is present only a non- mental subjectivity. 

Vet although the phenomena of so-called inanimate nature, be 
they motions of celestial bodies or physical and chemical processes, 
are non^mental, there is in every one of them present that grand 



feature which is as it were the breath of God. This feature appears 
in all the phenomena of nature, but in none of them more gloriously 
than in the soul of man. Even the cosmical events of marvellous 
sublimity appear as a mere prelude to the appearance of soul-life, 
for in soul-life Is focused all the divinity of nature. Reason is the 
reflex of the world-order and thus a rational being is made in the 
likeness of God. 

Professor Romanes presents the problem of the subjectivity of 
existence by the adjoined diagram, which he explains as follows ; 

' • Following Clifford, I will call these inferred subjectivities by the name of 
'ejects/ and assign to them the symbol 1', Thus in the following discussion A'^= 
the objective world, 1' the ejective world, and /f. the subjective world. Now, the 
theory of monism supposes that -V. >'and Z are all alike in kind, but presents no 
definite teaching as to how far they may difjer in degree. We may^ however, at 
once allow that between the psychological value of Z and that of X, there is a wide 
difference of degree, and also that while the value of Z is a fixed quantity, that of 
}' varies greatly in the different parts of the area JV 

The deep shading of Z indicates consciousness, and conscious- 
ness is that form of subjectivity which constitutes our mind. Z is 




not, as Professor Romanes asserts that it is, a fixed quantity ; it 
varies greatly, as every one knows from his own experience. It is 
lowest in trance or swoon or profound sleep. It is highest in 
the state of concentrated attention. The ejective element, which we 
assume to be present as a correlative concomitant in the objective 
world, we assume, with Professor Romanes, varies greatly in the 
different parts of the area V. Like Professor Romanes, we also do 
fwf assume the existence of any unshaded X, There is no objectiv- 
ity without its subjective correlate. But, according to the theory 
of monism, the nature of the concomitant subjectivity is not unknow- 
able : it can be inferred from the nature of objective existence. The 
subjectivity of the falling stone is most elementary, and tw/ mental\ 
its action is not prompted by meaning. That something which im- 
pels the stone to fall, and which science calls gravity, does not pos- 
sess any representative element. There is no symbolism involved 
in gravity. There is no soul in the stone. The stone is not incited 
to falling by any purpose ; it has no end in view. Purpose originates 
with and through the presence of representative symbols. According 
to the theory of monism the shading of the surrounding zones is not 
a matter concerning which we have to suspend our judgment. If 
monism is true, we know very well how deeply we have to shade the 
different phenomena of objective nature. 

Taking this view, we object to Professor Romanes's conclusion 
when he says : 

** Without in any way straining the theory of monism, we may provisionally 
shade X more deeply than iT, and this in some immeasurable degree. 

" Monism sanctij^ns the shading of X as deeply as we choose ; but ihe shading 
which it sanctions is only provisional." 

While the presence of mind in the phenomena of the stellar 
universe and of inorganic nature must decidedly be denied, I would 
not, for that reason^ declare that monism is atheistic- 
Monism is decidedly theistic although not anthropotheistic. It 
is monotheistic in so far as it recognises that the all-existence in 
which we hve and move and have our being is the *EN KAl HAN, 
the One and All. But there is not the slightest reason for the theory^ 



and there are siifEcient reasons against it. that the universe is pos- 
sessed of a htige world-ego, that it is a person or a mind. 

We maintain on the one hand that the laws of nature are not 
designs arranged with consciously preconceived purposes. Yet on 
the other hand, we do not forget, that the world-order possesses 
quite definite features and that the course of evolution runs in a very 
unmistakable direction. We can plainly decipher its character, and 
the great religious teachers of mankind have with a truly prophetic in- 
stinct proclaimed the ethical injunctions to be derived therefrom — 
injunctions which, millenniums after thern, science has discovered 
to be founded in the nature of things, 

God is no mind, yet God is mentality, the source of all mind : 
God is not a spirit, but he is spirituality. The subjectivity of the 
universe from which all consciousness rises is part of his being, and 
whatever that subjectivity, considered as a whole, be or be not, that 
much is certain, that in grandeur it corresponds to the objectivity of 
the world. It does not think in symbols as a man does ; it is not a 
mind : but it exists nevertheless. Whatever it is like we learn from 
the revelation of its appearance in objective existence, from the cos- 
mic order, the laws of nature, and the moral ideas of mankind. 

Knowledge of nature means knowledge of God, for nature is 
God as he appears and the objectivity of being is the revelation of 

We would not limit God to the subjectivity of nature: God is 
both subjectivity and objectivity combined. He is that All- power 
that is, was, and will be, thus being the ultimate authority of con- 

God is not a mind, he is more than a mind ; God is not a system 
of symbols, he is the reality symbolised in mind. He is not a person, 
he is super-personal. 

He who does not see that the God of monism is greater than 
the God of anthropotheisni, had better believe in a personal God, 
until lie appreciates the truth that God is not personal but super- 
personal. For after all anthropotheism is nearer the truth than 
atheism, for atheism (well understood, the atheism of our definition 
above) is a moral nihilism devised to shake off all ethical obligation 


SO as to make the lust of the moment and the pleasure of the indi- 
vidual the supreme rule of action. 

Monism, accordingly, does not leave the problem of theism where 
it was before. Monism proves that God is not to be conceived in 
the likeness of man, but the reverse : man, being a system of sym- 
bols representing the world, is to be conceived as having been made 
or rather as having originated in the likeness of God. God is the 
original, man is the copy. God is the whole, man is the part, in 
which the whole finds a more or less correct representation. The pic- 
ture is not perfect, but the grandest duty a man has is the constant 
approach to a greater perfection. Man is the temporal, God is the 
eternal. Man is limited, God is the infinite. 




DR. PAUL SOLLIER has just published, in the Biblioth^que 
Charcot-Debove,* a new and excellent work, Les troubles dc la 
memoirc. This work is not identical in its purpose with that of M. Ri- 
bot; it corrects the latter in certain points, completes and corrobo- 
rates it in others. M. SoUier set out to discuss this question solely 
from a medical standpoint, which was intentionally passed over by 
M. Ribot, but he has also necessarily touched upon its psychological 
aspects, and, as he informs us himself, he was obliged on the whole 
to make a medico-psychoiogical study of the question. 

The subject is a vast one ; one could include in it aphasia and 
all the weaknesses resulting from the destruction of the brain-centres, 
whether those of motion or of sensation. M. Sollier has taken the 
pains to reduce it, however, to definite limits. He studies especially 
the subject of acquired amnesia (diminutive changes and disaggrega- 
tions of the memory). He does not consider the subject of congeni- 
tal amnesia, which is an absence and not a loss of memory. Strictly 
considered, the only cases of true amnesia, or organic amnesia, are 
those which result from the destruction of the nen^^e-centres, since 
in this case there is an absolute loss of the power of forming mental 
images, and not simply an enfeebling or forgetting of them, which is 
characteristic Qi/amlitimil amnesia. From a clinical standpoint am- 
nesia exists only in the last case. Though the effect may be the same 
in both cases, the causes are not identical. 


Rueff. publisher. 



Clinical investigation cannot, however, overlook the diminutive 
changes which take place in the memory and which, as early as 
1817, were called by Lonyer-Villermay dysmnesia, and which are 
always closely allied to organic modifications of the brain. As re- 
gards amnesia itself, it is important to distinguish simple amnesia 
from retrogressive and progressive amnesia. M» SoUier explains the 
motive causes of these different conditions with great lucidity, and 
renders them easy of comprehension by means of ingenious illustra- 

I call attention to the information he gives us as to the condi- 
tions under which a revival of mental images takes place, p. 30 ; 
to his criticism of Ribot^s opinion, according to which the power of 
correctly locating events in the scale of time is the true character- 
istic of psychical memory : it is quite enough if it reproduces events 
as in the past, that is to say if there exists a conscious knowledge which 
shows that the mental conception belongs to the past, or is, simply^ 
a remembrance, p. 35 and 40 ; to his remarks on the strengthening 
of mental images due to the repetition of remembrances, the neces- 
sary sequence of which is that a weakening of old memories follows 
the destruction of accumulated mental images, p, 48 ; to his explana- 
tion of the processes of retrogressive amnesia (coming suddenly after 
an attack of vertigo, a blow. etc. ) which he bases upon a supposition 
of a group of mental conceptions in touch with one another, in such a 
way that the loss of one leading conception in a group deprives this 
group of sufficient consistency to form a conscious synthesis, p. 70. 

As regards the classifications of amnesia M, Sollier censures 
that of M. Ribot as being neither openly psychological nor openly 
clinical, and of taking successively as bases the extent of an observed 
phenomenon, its evolution, its location in time. Moreover, from a 
clinical standpoint it has led to a joining together of totally incon- 
gruous disorders. M. Sollier therefore rejects it, and contents him- 
self with adopting first of all, with M> Fa 1 ret, the natural classifica- 
tion of general amnesia and of partial amnesia. Moreover, in taking 
account of the systematising of lost remembrances, he' proposes to 
make a distinction as to the two varieties of system atised (functional) 
and of non-systeniatised (organic) amnesiaj considered from the 



purely psycholog;ical standpoint, p. 59. We should thus have, firstly, 
the classification of general amnesia, inclodtng (A) true organic am- 
nesia (destruction of the centre of mental images), and, under the 
classification of the systematised, (B) functional, or apparent, am- 
nesia (imperfect performance of the functions of the centres): this 
latter subdividing into two groups, (a) amnesia with its varieties (a') 
simple, (//) retrogressive, (/) progressive, and (^) paramnesia : (a) 
that of locality, (//) that of exactness ; to which it is proper to add 
(r) dysmnesia, which is organic-functional. Secondly, the classifica- 
tion of partial amnesia whether systematised or not, which may be 
either organic or functionab M, Soilier abandons, moreover, every 
pathological or etiological classification as being exceedingly unsatis- 
factory. In the presence of a patient, he justly remarks, the physician 
can only employ semiologJ^— 1 will not enter here into the details of 
the inquisitor-like investigation entered upon by the author. I must 
even proceed without stopping through the observations intended for 
medical men, which form the second part of the work, but I judge 
that every reader will also find therein many facts which may prove 
of interest After having read it, one is more impressed than ever with 
the importance and delicacy of the motive forces of the memory, in 
noting the frequency and the varieties even of its sources of weak- 
ness. M. Soilier has the credit of pointing them out — in the shape 
of '* defects in synthetical power" and in **wilJ power" — in the 
sources of weakness where one had not been accustomed to look for 
them. It would be interesting, he thinks, to find out what part 
amnesia may perhaps take in the pathogeny of certain nervous dis- 
orders, and the influence which it has on their evolution. Specialists 
for the insane might find therein a new subject of study, and psy- 
chology will profit, on the other hand, by that which clinical expe- 
rience o0ers it, ll not its main object to learn to understand life as 
a unit at the same time that it analyses it as a diversity? 

When one passes from a book like that of M. Soilier to the work 
of M. TAbb^ MAiruKE de Baeis, £rs Inises iff /a mtna/f et du drait,* 

* This book and the following ones are published by F. Alcan, 



one is impressed by the change of method. It has become impossible 
for us to consider pathology as unallied to questions of morality ; and 
we have accomplished this great object of studying matters pertain- 
ing to the moral world, the evolution of law, without seeking our 
base of support in a religious faith or in a metaphysical affirmation. 
Even M. TAbb*^ de Baets himself declares emphatically that he de- 
sires to adopt only one starting point from among those we are ac- 
quainted with,— the verification of facts, — and truly he show^s a good 
will and knowledge; nevertheless the ground which he considers 
so firm has, as we believe, no stability. All seems strange to us, if 
I may so speak, in books of this description. The tone which is 
peculiar to them, the natttre of the facts cited, the progress of the 
reasoning, impeach them just as surely as the blue color of his cos- 
tume reveals afar off an inhabitant of the Celestial Empire. I 
am not an impassioned adversary of the clergy ; far from it. I ap- 
preciate their intentions and esteem their persons as one should, but 
I am unable to share their opinions, and I consider indeed that they 
deceive themselves when they think that faith has ever given to the 
world an absolute assurance. It has not given it because it has not 
proved sufficient. Mankind, variable and vacillating though it may 
be, does not change its beliefs because of fickleness of heart : its 
mental evolution takes place too slowly for that, and is also too 
painful. The Catholic church of to-day has adopted as its watch- 
word the return to St. Thomas of Aquinas ; it will gain by this 
unity of effort, without succeeding however in leading back the minds 
of men to its point of view. The diverse ways we follow tend doubt- 
less as a matter of fact toward the same objective point, and run 
more or less in the same direction ; but humanity scarcely ever 
passes back again over the paths which it has once traversed. 

We have another little volume by M. Lomkroso, Lfs appHca- 
turns dt i*anthropoii});if crimineiit ; a sequel to Notwe^/ts rcchcnhes^ 
which I have mentioned before. We find here interesting pages in 
regard to transportation and reform schools, and a criticism of the new 
theories of the penal code (Garofalo, Tarde, Sighele, Onanoff and 
Blorg, Ferri)^^ — a part of the question considered in the Congress, 



A chapter indeed is devoted to the subject of criminal anthropology 
in modern literature, in regard to which it seems to me M. Lom- 
broso always makes more of a question than is desirable, but which 
he well understands how to criticise. Then follow several pages on 
the criminal type in art, after a work of Dr. Edward Lefort ; then 
comes a description of anthropological instruments and methods. I 
will not affirm that this last work brings us much of novelty ; it is 
chiefly a new and energetic presentation of his views, and M, Lom- 
broso has no doubt whatever that by dint of striking the nail upon 
the head he will succeed in driving it into the wall of his adversaries. 

The work of M. B. Bourdon, V express hn ties emotions et des 
tendames dans le langiige^ is certainly one of the most curious books 
one can read. He treats in an original manner of phonetical ques- 
tions, wiiich are less rife in France than in England and Germany, 
as to what sounds signify, or speech ; what is their worth in intensity, 
elevation^ form or quality, duration ; what phenomena are shown by 
successions of intensity, of elevation, of elementary articulation, of 
syllables, of words, etc., of duration ; what are the relations of these 
phenomena to versification and what comparison one can make be- 
tween writing and speech ; such are the problems particularly stud- 
ied, at times with the aid of very simple but instructive facts culled 
from experience. 

These studies — I need scarcely add that they are comparative 
ones — are of interest for various reasons. They lead up to new ideas 
of grammar and of language, and furnish arguments for a reform in 
orthography of which M. Bourdon is a very warm partisan. His 
readers will not be slow to notice for the matter of that, that he is 
in regard to this frankly revolutionary ; and it may seem paradoxical 
to say to them, for example, that *' the distinction between analytical 
and synthetical languages is absolutely artificial, and could only be 
produced through our bad systems of writing/' Writing, M, Hour- 
don indeed remarks, introduces separations in places where spoken 
language makes no pause. The English write I wiH gt>^ they pro- 
nounce it Iwrilgt}. The analysis which pertains to writing masks 
the true cohesion of the spoken language, and **if in the past all 



series oi articutations had been written as a single word inhich weie 
m fact pronounced as a single word, we should not have known 
the error which consists in opposing certain languages classed as 
sy'nihetical to others which we class as analytical." The argument 
is perhaps not a decisive one^ and in the neo* Latin languages, for 
example, one c:an scarcely deny that the analysis oi tlie written Ian* 
guage has conformed to the work of decompiosttion of the antique 
forms, so as to adapt itself to the new groupings of their essential 
elements, groupings wherein these elemeals remain variable because 
speech separates them effectively, in many cases by interpolating 
governing words or others. 

But it is not my intention to enter into these detailed discus- 
sions. I leave M. Bourdon in further catling attention to his last 
chapter, Ecriture. Persons curious as to graphology will find in it 
some good ideas concerning this method of "character reading." 
The author does not tell everything, and I have a suspicion that he 
greatly despises certain signs valued by the graphologists, and ar- 
rived at empirically, but we should note what he has actually said. 

Under the title, Le monde physique^ Essai de concept wh expM- 
mcniaU, M. Dr. Juliex Pioger offers to the public a sketch of a 
world*system. This system is summed up in the expression of ** Uni- 
versal Solidarity," and is based on the idea of infinitely minute 
matter-particlesy or ^^infinitesimals,*' the mutual relations of which, 
and their equilibriumi constitute the machinery of the universe. 
The atomic-mechanical hypothesis, says M. Pioger, is wrong in 
resolving matter into perfected differential particles and in assigning 
to its atoms qualities which make of them either true material cor- 
puscules or a real entit>% "a thing in itself.** On the contrary, far 
from intending to assign a limit to materiality* the hypothesis of in- 
finitesimals confines itself to limiting the conception which we may 
have of it. The infinitesimal corresponds to the infinitely small, 
that is to say to the non-perfected, to the non-differentiable, beyond 
our cognisance and our perceptivity ; it expresses the most reduced 
condition of the affinities which constitute matter ; it is the expres- 
sion of the infinitesimal existence of that which we call motion* ex* 



tension, ponderability, under the general name of matter. Now the 
most simple thing which can be conceived of in the physical world, 
is the couph formed hy the essential equipoise of two infinitesimals. 
In developing the couple it becomes possible to form the universe 
in all its great variety. The solidarity of the parts in the whole ap- 
pears as the essential condition of existence of all that which Is — 
the necessary condition of all individuality. 

In conclusion I call attention to two new editions, one the well- 
known work of M. Bernard P^.rez, Le$ trois premieres annees tie Pen- 
fani\ fifth edition, revised and supplied with an introduction by Mr. 
James Sully ; the other Les functions du ccrveau, by M. Jules Soury, 
a work highly esteemed* embodying the most recent researches. 




One of our foremost psychiatrists, Professor v, Krafft-Ebing of 
Vienna, says in his celebrated text-book on psychiatry: '*If Fed* 
agogy made a more serious study of the character of man in his 
psychopathological relations, many of the mistakes and severities 
of our system ot education would be removed, many an unsuitable 
choice of vocation would be left unmade, and thus many a psychical 
existence rescued/' 

Any one who is at all familiar with the most important doc- 
trines of the diseased phenomena of mental life, and who knows how 
frequently psychical disturbances of a more or less serious nature 
occur during childhood, will fully agree with Krafft-Ebing, and will 
only regret that pedagogy, in this important direction, has com- 
pletely neglected its task. 

Although lately the necessity of psychiatric knowledge for the 
pedagogue has been insisted upon in professional circles, for instance, 
by Professor Struempell in his Pedagogic Faihohgy (com p. The 
Monisi II, 106), yet instruction in this department occupies a wholly 
subsidiary place in pedagogic education^ and has not been made as 
it should have been, an organic part of the same. The writer of 



these Jines has accordingly discussed this subject in a special trea- 
tise, maintaining that the most important diseased phenomena of 
mental life might be treated as a part of pedagogic psychology 
fcomp. The Mtmisi I, 619), 

The demands made were met in different ways. While the 
English and American press accepted these demands without reserve 
(for instance, in Hatj/s Pedagogical Seminar \\ I, 297), in Germany 
there has been more caution displayed, inasmuch as the opposing 
difficulties were regarded as greater than they probably were (Pro- 
fessor Rein's Pddagogische Siudien^ 1892, Heft I). 

We ha%^e, however, simply to call to mind the doctrine which 
more than twenty years ago Maudsley in his ** Physiology and Path- 
ology of the Mind " laid such special emphasis upon, that psychic 
laws are the same in healthy and diseased phenomena, only that 
they do not operate under the same conditions and therefore pro- 
duce different symptoms. Far from its being true, therefore, that 
the introduction of psychopathology into psychology can be opposed 
by any especially well-founded objections, such a procedure will, on 
the contrary, be found to be, just as Maudsley said, an appropriate 
and absolutely indispensable auxiliary of the study of this science. 
And that which was emphasised by Maudsley, and lately also by 
MuENSTERRERG in the treatise already discussed in The Monist (II, 
289), Oft the Problems ami Metlwds of Psychology {\^^'\^s\z^ 1891, Abel), 
Ziehen has done in his ** Outlines of Physiological Psychology" in 
a manner which will be full of suggestions for the pedagogue (comp. 
The Monist I, 598). 

To be sure, the work of Ziehen is very far from supplying all 
that the pedagogue needs. We have in this w^ork a vast mass of 
valuable observations, which will have to be elaborated in a manner 
that accords with the needs of pedagogy, if this science is to derive 
any material profit from psychiatry. For the bibliography of this 
subject we shall refer the reader to a former correspondence of ours 
{The Monist II, 103), and select at present for examination one prov- 
ince only, — a province which is deserving of especial consideration, 
inasmuch as the phenomena which occur in it are phenomena w'hich 
most frequently confront the pedagogist, and are most likely to be 



overlooked by the ud trained eye. We refer to ih^ fsychopaikic sti^- 
sidiary phtnomt'tm of Dr« Koch^ by which expression this author com- 
prises all the psychical irregularities, be they natural or acquired, 
affecting the life of the human personahty, which, though not even 
in the severest cases amounting to actual mental disorders, yet in 
the most favorable instances so affect the persons alHicted that they 
appear as lacking the full possession of mental normality and ca- 
pacity. The second part of Koch's work, mentioned in The Monht 
in the place above cited, has just now appeared. (Ratisbon, 1892, 
Otto Maier). Having discussed in the first part of his work inher* 
ited and chronic psychopathic subsidiary phenomena, the author 
now proceeds to discuss acquired subsidiary factors, and holds out 
the prospect of a third part, on the appearance of which we shall 
have occasion again to discuss the entire work from a different point 
of view. For the present, only the pedagogic aspect of the question 
interests us. On many readers, Koch's book must have made the 
impression, — to judge from his concluding remarks, — that the author 
shares Lombroso's point of view, and to very many pedagogues 
such a position would be, from the very outset, a bad recommenda- 
tion, for it would necessarily, in the very nature of the case, involve 
the pedagogue in great embarrassment, in the same way as it has 
involved the philosophical jurist. But embarrassment is no reason 
wliy we should close our ears to the truth, and if Lombroso should 
be right in all his teachings, pedagogy would also be obliged to ac- 
commodate its doctrines to his. Upon the whole, however, Koch is 
opposed to him. Thus when he says: **What I commend Lom- 
broso for is that lie has observed much, has collected rich materials, 
and has been the source of great incentives in many directions, and 
has worked suggestively in many ways ; what 1 reproach him with 
is that he has confounded the healthy with the diseased, and has 
brought under one and the same category without sufficient and ap- 
propriate tests, psychotic phenomena and phenomena which are 
psychopathically merely of a subsidiary order ; what I reject is his 
theory of degeneration and his peculiar views of philosophy." 

Material, such as Koch and others offer, must first be elabor- 
ated into a pedagogic psychopathology^or better still into a peda- 




gogic pathopsychology — before pedagogy, as a whole, can assume 
in this direction the proper foroi. Though we consider, now, this 
preparatory work as indispensable, we can, nevertheless, not think 
of denying the value of works which, without any profession of far- 
reaching psychological analysis, put in elective and available form 
for pedagogy the diseased phenomena of the mental life of children. 
The first German work of this kind, so far as we know, is from the 
pen of a Leipsic teacher, Gustav Siegert, and bears the title Pro- 
bUmatischc Kiruicsmituren.* This little work is now followed by a 
more comprehensive treatise, published by a Bremen alienist, Dr. 
ScHOLZ, already known to the readers of The Monist (II, 104), and 
bearing the title Die Characterfehier des Kimies, eint Erziehungsithre 
fur Si'hiilf uftd ffaus,^ Such books are valuable not only for the ob- 
servations they offer and the isolated explanations and pedagogic 
advice they present^ but also for the suggestions which the attentive 
and psychologically cultivated reader can always receive from them. 
Like Siegert, Scholz principally shows us isolated child-types 
wherein diseased qualities play a more or less pronounced role. But 
while the former's presentation is somewhat journalistic in style, that 
of the latter is more didactic ; although this tendency is not an abso- 
lutely rigid one, as the author counts mothers as readers of his book. 
But if the form of presentation leads one to infer greater profundity 
in Scholz than in Siegert, this is in still higher degree the case with 
the arrangement of the material. While Siegert strings his child- 
pictures loosely together, Scholz arranges them according to real 
psychological points of view, so that (remarkable to say) the faults 
of children are discussed, first, in the province of feeling and senti- 
ment, then in that of representation, and iinalty in that of volition 
and action. The introductory and concluding chapters show, also, 
that Scholz attempts to enter more profoundly into the subject than 
Siegert proposes, and we cherish the hope that, now that this popular 
work has appeared, Scholz will very soon present us with a strictly 
scientific book, in which he shall have occasion to deal with some 

♦ Fr^bUmntic ChiiJ-trntures. Leipsic. 1890, Robert Vogtliindcr. 
f Faults of Characftr in Childv^n^ A System of Instruition for School and H&mi. 
Leipsic. Edaard Heinrich Mayer, 



particular points, such as, for instance, falsehood and unchastity. 
more comprehensively than was perhaps possible in a book intended 
for his present circle of readers. 

With respect, now, to all systematic presentations of pedagogy, 
psychopathology can, as we have before indicated, never attain in 
them its proper position, until ihe above-mentioned preparatory 
work has been completed. But this fact should not preclude one's 
calling especial attention to the importance of this province, at least 
in some incidental manner. 

In such a work as the A//}^i'mtinc Pdda^^ogik of ZiLLiiK, for in- 
stance, the third edition of which has just been published by F. Mat- 
tes of Leipsic, there surely was abundant opportunity to do this — ^ 
an opportunity which one might say almost amounted to obliga- 
tion. For Ziller treats hereditar}^ and acquired characteristics in 
great detail, and such treatment remains necessarily a one-sided 
one, if abnormal traits are not considered in it. Ziller, with Herbart, 
demands that individuality always be taken as the starting-point. 
But how many child-individualities are there, which, in the different 
periods of their development, may be regarded as fully norma! ! 

The reason of this omission must be looked for partly in the 
circumstance, that Ziller, as well as the new editor of this otherwise 
valuable work» belongs to the Herbartian school. If, namely, we 
compare the psychological literature of the Herbartian school with 
the publications of French^ English, and American writers, or even 
with the works which in recent times have issued from other phil- 
osophical quartervS of Germany, it will be unmistakably seen that 
the pathological conditions of the mind have been little considered 
by the followers of Herbart. Nor have voices been wanting, that 
would make Herbart himself responsible for this error. He did not, 
they say, sufficiently appreciate the importance of the pathological 
phenomena of mind, and his pupils were in this respect influenced 
by him. But this reproach will be found, on close examination, to 
be untenable. Herbart, it is true, did express himself repeatedly 
against the over-estimation of **rare and curious phenomena," un- 

♦ Compare also, The Educaiion^ii h\-vUw (New York), Vol 11, page 30. 



usual mental states and such things,* and his warning is applicable 
also to our epoch, which produces man}' psychological works in 
which remarkable things are to be read but which contribute nothing 
worth mentioning towards the explanation of even comparatively 
simple events. Herbart holds, that the psychology of the normal 
and ordinary states should be the first and principal object of scien- 
tific attention ; the explanation of much that is extraordinary will 
then follow. With regard to this latter point, he remarks very posi- 
tively : ** I do not, however, wish by this, to gainsay the value of 
any real psychological observation. There must be a welcome place 
in science for every experience." It will be seen, therefore, that 
Herbart is not at all far from the point of view of Maudsley and other 
investigators. We find, in fact, that he mentions repeatedly abnor- 
mal mental conditions, and also systematically treats iheni, even 
quoting such celebrated alienists as Reil and Pinel {Tfxi-bmk o/Psy 
chohg}% §g 142-149), The probability is, therefore, that psychopath- 
olog\' would have been properly employed in Herbarl's psychology* 
if it had been at all elaborated in his day, and its influence would 
through Herbart have been directly felt in pedagogy, as no peda- 
gogist has made better or more careful use of psychology than he. 
But Herbart's pupils have done no further work in the province 
pointed out by him. It is true, his psychology has been made use 
of by physicians like Griesinger and Spielmann, and recently also 
to some extent by Krafft-Ebing, but the works of these men have 
had no influence on the psychological text*books of ilie Herbart ian 
school, and consequently the science has up to die prcsifnt day ex- 
erted no noticeable inHuence on pedagogy, either in Waitz, in St03% 
or in ZiUen In other pedagogic schools, this has, it is true, also 
been the case ; but in these, who make no pretensions of relying on 
the teachings of psychology, the sin is more easily pardoned. But 
this is not the only respect in which Ziller's Ptdagogy is not up to 
the times. Ziller defined pedagogy as the influences, formed ac- 
cording to ethical points of view, which are brought to bear on the 
mind of the pupil, and would not admit influences brought to bear 

^ Psychohgif ilii WiisiHiihaft^ % 5, 



on the body, in so far as such should enter into the pedagogic' sys- 
tem. This misconception also springs from Ziller's adherence to 
the Herbartian school, which represents, as we well know, a meta- 
physical phiralism ; but it is in a still higher degree due to the 
fact, that in Ziller's day both the intimate relation between physio- 
logical and psychological processes had not been satisfactorily es- 
tablished, and also were not sufficiently known to him. If it were 
otlierwise, his pluralism need by no means have necessarily led him 
into such one-sidedness, for this metaphysical pluralisra does not 
exclude a monistic conception of ffhenomena ; even assuming this 
doctrine, one may say that motion and feeling are two different but 
inseparable sides of the same phenomenon. The **real things'' pro- 
duce by their interaction, simultaneously and of necessity, both an 
inner side and an outer; for which reason one of our foremost psy- 
chologists, Volkm an n of Volkmar, explicitly terms Herbart's psychol- 
ogy monistic {^Texi-bmk i^f Psychohgy, second edition, I, 63). 

A psychologico-physiological work, from which the new editor 
of Ziller*s Peda^^t^^y might have extracted many valuable things, is 
the book of the Italian Mossn, On Fatigue, which has just been 
translated into German,* and which will excite much attention owing 
to the present active discussion of the question of overwork. 

Supplementary to this work I will also mention a little tract by 
Dr. Burgerstein of Vienna, entitled Dk Arbeiiskurvc einer Schul- 
sluntfr.f This tract is a lecture, which the author gave at the Sev- 
enth International Congress for Hygiene and Demography at Lon- 
don, and in which he seeks to find by statistical methods, the dura- 
tion of a ** school-period " — a very laboriously composed treatise 
and one difficult to read, but possessed of high interest in psycho- 
logical and pedagogic respects. 

From pedagogy to evolution is but a step, at least it is in Zil- 
ler's development of Herbart's ideas. It is true, Ziller has taken a 
decided stand against Darwinism, for Ziller works with two contra- 
dictory ideas ; but his theory of education possesses points of re- 

* Salomoa Hirzel^ Leipsic, 

f Hamburg. r8gi, Leopold Voss. 


27 1 

semblance amd analogy to the Darwin- Haeckel theon' of develop- 
ment. According to ZiUer» each individual passes, also inlellect- 
ually, through all the stages of development that mankind at targe 
has passed through, only in a shorter time ; and it Is in conformity 
with s^Qch succession that the order of the various courses of a peda* 
gogical system is to be arranged. Following Ziller's precedent^ 
Professor Vaihivger, of Halle, in his treatise Xatur/orsihung umd 
Schuh (Science and the Schools), has taken up- the school-reform 
initiated by Professor Preyer, and has expressly transferred the fun- 
damental law of biogenesis to pedagogy. How instruction is to be 
arranged under this point of view, cannot be explained in this letter* 
which is already- long enough. We shall simply remark that the idea 
has found in Germany a large number of both friends and opponents. 

The opponents have recently been joined by a natural scientist. 
Dr. Hamann, professor of zoology in G6ttingen, who has just pub- 
lished a book under the title EtUwicklungsiehrt Ufui Darwinismus 
(Evolution and Darwinism),* in which he does not combat the the- 
or>^ of evolution itself, but simply the Darwin -Haeckeliaii form of 
that theor>% placing himself in the ranks of His and Hensen. The 
book appeared almost simultaneously with the fourth edition of 
Haeckei/s Anthropagtny,^ but the author^ nevertheless, in his sup- 
plementary remarks, discusses the ** apology " which Haeckel sub- 
joined to his work. HaeckePs book needs no recommendation in 
scientific circles ; it will be sufficient to state that the work has been 
subjected to essential alterations, but that its fundamental features 
have remained the same. 

A new psychology, on the Darwinian basis, by Prof, Fritz 
ScHULTZE of Dresden, is now in course of publication, entitled Ver* 
gitichfrnle Seeknktmde (Comparative Psychology J). The first part, 
which treats of the fundamental principles of physiological psychol- 
ogy, has already appeared. On the completion of the work we shall 
have occasion to return to it. 

Chr, Ufer. 

* Jena. iBgz, Hermann Costenoble. 
f Leipsic, 1892, Eagelmann 
I Leipsic, 1892. 



7i? ihe Editor of Th£ Monist : 

As I feel it a duty to reserve, for other purposes, the very small power of work 
now left to me, I am obliged to decline entering upoo a controversy. I must leave 
readers to examine for themselves — little hoping, however, that they will do so. 

One point only I wish to note. The use of the expression "forms of thought/' 
iDstead of " forms of intuition." was simply an inadvertence; as will be manifest 
on observing that though I have used the wrong expression in the note, I have used 
the right expression in the text (p. 205), as also throughout my criticism of Kant's 
doctrine in The PrimipUs of Psyekohgy, Part VII. Chapter IV, '"The Reasonings 
of Metaphysicians/ J? 399. 

Hbrbert Spencbr. 


In the French Rittte Phihiophique, in the August and Septemlier 1891 num- 
bers of the same, M. George Mouret has an essay entitled " Mathematical Equal- 
ity ' in the course of which and as though subsidiary to his ostensible purpose he 
discourses upon the topics of relations and concepts and upon the fundamental 
elements of logic in general. His essay is really more important as a contribution 
to logical doctrine than as a treatment of mathematical equality. 

The scope of his discourse will be seen by reference to his closing paragraphs 
in which he sums up what he considers to be the results achieved by bim in his 
essay. Therein, he says that he has *' treated of the general theory of the composi- 
tion of concepts and relations and set the foundations of the logic of analysis and 
the logic of definition. ' 


The determining factor of every philosophical dissertation is of course m 
very general supposition which is taken as established and which exercises a 1 
trolling influence over all the observations of its author. 



watMoemokc m tae vov^ of 99 
BlDbrtee. l ad ead ao far 

n la factliede- 
Dpk&dUfieof Mr Herbert Spes- 

Mtf iT t rH iffM of ihadt t™*'"*^ of bis snd 

ii^m U ike mme tia^kmwm dtfimiU rtimtim i^ mae wmHhtr.** Tbi» SMim. as M r 
SpeKier idk ■(. «aa m^geO^A to koi bf a riMiiill of tbe ble LMlairiit aatbor «bo 
k ksowa lc» tbe wccU andcr tbe [wbaiw of Gcufe Etiot. «bo beneif ttaied It 
mder tbe form «* Tl^i^ i:4k/ 4c7vr m ismrtamt rti^U^m §0 ikm mmg ikmg km9€ m tmf- 
stsmi reimti^m f# esek Hher** 

Those wbo are krII *np*''Ttrif vilb tbe fMf«Jialogj of Mr. Spencer w91 reoog- 
Me ibat tbk ma^m of biisa^ebf bbs Iba wrf faadcboac of all bis ob»im- 
lioos apott rwaanaiaf If it bia tbe valifity arbkb be bapaleiiok, itbasaatm- 
ponaoce vbicfa it wOl be bard to ann iiimiir. b«t if cmi tbe ooatrarj. jiad as «r 
iDUl sabaMt, st is b evnj forai la wbicb it, m 
midcadtag, it is bifb tine ibat its virtae dboaU be bno^ibt i 

The ^inSff of die onsiers wbedvr tbejr fim caoance the same or vbeiber tbey 
onijT sivecarmcj tbeicfto bj their ratificatkn ate alwajrs proper sabfects for special 
scrutmj There is aJarajslbaad a dispoiitioB to accept then 00 their QKref/j:/iSxi> 
without aaj atteanpc at cnsicisai or tadepeadeot obaerratioo. This is dedat^y m^ 
the sdcDtific aiood or mode Tlv spirit of that Olodem leaves that b carready f«- 
l&irsd to aader the name of Scieace is characteristically a critical oae. and ooe 
that b cxntnderablr in er » -eie nt in regard to tbe aathoritr of inere peraoaality la 
this it ti happily disdafaisbed from the spirit thai has marbed the past Weitarf of 
what may be called the '* regalar " schools of pbilosopbj. 

M. Hones is aot alone ta his taadvertent esteem for the auudm ia qiMstaoa. 
In the isBiR of Mmdiar Oft pfc tr 1891 Mr. L T Hobbouse publishes aa artide ea- 
tided *'lBdaction aad PtdiJCtJoo." ta which he gires an ondae appraisal 10 the 
worth of the aiajdm iiader ooosMkiaiian. even thoogh the aatbor of tbe aitide 
seeins to he well aware that said maxim staads in amch need of qnalibcattOQ, 

We vencQre to say tha.t this maxim in aU its forms has gained arbaterer ci tireiicy 
it has enjoyed to %^inoe alone of the iocampetenc comprehensioQ that too gen^allj 
prevails in regard to the natnre and characteristics of Ibat sort of things that are 

A notable exajitple of this lack of compreh^isioo is Mpplied in the logical tree- 
tiae of Mr. Carveth Read, a work ostensibly loonded npoo the significance of the 

274 THE MOXIST. | 

category of relation and yet in which at the very start the fiuthor tells us that a re< 
lation is something which la tndefiDable. i 


This topic of relations is one that is neglected in a degree that reflects no credit 
upon the pretensions of those who undertake to instruct others in matters logical and 
philosophical. The thing itself is in ihe thinking of every one and the term and its 
derivations are in universal use. They are used as though they imported an idea 
that no one was liable to misapply or to misunderstand. The truths however, is 
that of all the stock terras in our graver discourse this very word "relation" and 
its derivatives are the ones that are oftenesl heard and read without any lucidity of 
mind concerning their proper intent as a part of their context. They are used with 
an assortment of meanings and non-meanings that are quite distracting to try to fol- 
low and quite vain to try and reconcile. In particular the difference between tela- " 
tioHship and retatiofty between the ^^nmrt J or /ot4nt/ttftifn of the relation and the rela- 
tion itself, between the plural fact, whether of tendency, interaction, transition, or 
statffs, that is a co-condition with the relations, and the relations that co-condition 
that same plural fact, is constantly ignored in thinking and in the expression thereof, 
to the more or less confusion in, and inconsequence of. the w hole discourse delivered. 

It is no slight commendation of the perspicacity of M. Mouret to observe that 
he has discovered that the \vay towards a resolution of the problems he sets himself 
to work out lies through what to him appears the altogether unexplored regions of 
relation-lore, for it is evident that he regards himself as a pioneer in this field. 


In observing this we cannot but hold M. Mouret unfortunate in not having been 
put upon belter lines of inquiry. He seems to have been wholly unaware of the 
treasures of investigation in this domain that exist in the English language and that 
for many years have been available for the student. His case in this respect is s«en 
io the exaltation which he gives to the semi-popular discourses of Mr. Spencer and 
Mr, Read, as contrasted with the profound researches of DeMorgan and Boole and 
their disciples. It is evident that he has judged concerning the comparative quality 
of the various lines of English research not after an examination of his own. but 
after the current popular renown. For example, he speaks of the work of DeMor- 
gan and Boole as piresenting '* only a simple mode of reprcisenting some of the logical 
laws" and as being "surrounded with a formidable and complicated apparel which 
disguises the value of their tentatives." 

Since M. Mouret is manifestly an earnest student of the topic of relation-lore 
this language shows that he has at best only a second or third-hand knowledge of 
what DeMorgan and Boole really did. He ought to have known that in the recondite 
field of research in question all really competent treatment of the same would be 
very far from having any "popular " quality. For a man to discourse of relation- 



lore in ignorance of whai DeMorgan, Ihe very father of the *' Logic of Relatives/* 
accomplished is like discoursing of Darwinism in ignorance of " The Origin of Spe- 

We opine that when M. Mouret shall have consulted the great memoir of 
DeMorgan in the tenth volume of the "Cambridge Philosophical Transactions" or 
better, when he shall have become acquainted with the more developed work of 
Mr. C. S. F^eirce. to whom beyood question relation-lore is most indebted for its 
present state of progress, he will have a belter esteem for the value of the " tenta- 
ti\'es " of DeMorgan and Boole and their disciples. Mr. Peirce has published three 
principal papers on the subject in question. The first of these was published in 1870 
in the ninth volume of the *' Memoirs of the American Academy of Arts and 
Sciences " Then in 1S80 and in 1884, while Mr. Peirce was lecturer on logic at 
Johns Hopkins University, he published in ihe^ A meriniH Journul 0/ Mtjth^matus 
two papers dealing more or less extensively with relation-lore. One of these his 
** Mijupho^tk'" as it is called by Professor Schroeder of Carlsruhe, appears in the 
third volume of the journal mentioned and the other in the seventh volume of the 
same. Mr. Peirce was one of the contributors to our new American '' Century Dic- 
tionary." and in that work under the definitions of Relation and Relativity there ap- 
pears a summary treatment of the subject which is as we take it the work of Mr, 
Peirce and which might have given to M Mouret hints which he would have ap- 
preciated. Also the editor of this magazine in his article "Are there Things in 
Themselves?" in the January 1892 number thereof incidentally touches upon the 
topic under consideration in such a way as to correct some of the more inveterate 

IV. M. MDURET's theory of RELAllONS. 

The article of M. Mouret is in so many points so excellent a discourse that the 
chief reflect JOD one is inclined to make is that upon its own principles it ought to 
have been better He seems to have been widely awake to the primordial nature 
of relations as philosophical data. He says : " ' Every notion or relation is a fum- 
ihn of relations more directly known and enters as a relational element into other 
relations less proximate to the common sources," and also that *" every concept or 
notion ought to resolve into a group of relations/' 

By such tokens as these we naturally look to see M. Mouret making it his 
very first concern to explain fully the nature of those primordial data that are 
relations. Indeed he seems himself to be fully aware of this natural expectation 
for he says : ' " What then is a relation ; what is a concept or notion ? To this 
dcmble question an answer is necessary and a precise answer not consisting in the 
substitution of one form of words for another form of words bearing the same 
meaning or no meaning at alL" 

We cannot however find that he has done this. Instead of it and almost 
while saying that every concept and notion ought to resolve in a group of relations 



be announces, *'What 1 have to eKamme is the constitution, the structure of tbes^ 
r^/afion-giffU'rttfmj^g^roi^Jis.'^ Thus he starts with a synthesis when what is needed 
is analysis. He starts with supposing a group of relational elements indeterminate 
in number and proceeds to inquire as to the conditions that must subsist with re- 
gard to them, respectively and in combination, in order that a tU finite relation may 
subsist as to a pair ol the relational elements. These conditions he finds to be four 
tn number. First, he finds that — 

'^ It is necessary that every one of the terms of the group should be connected 
one to the other by definite' relations ; that between any two terms there must al- 
ways be intermediate terms that connect them in a continuous way," This he 
cal!s the condition of ''Solidarity." Secondly, he finds that there must obtain the 
condition of Co- Exist em <^. By co-existence he intends — 

"Not a definite co-existence in time, that is to say, a relation of simultaneity 
or concomitance, nor yet that established co-existence which constitutes the causal 
relation, but an indefinite co-existence independent of the order of its terms and of 
all consideration of time or duration." 

Having thus supposed his group all well stocked with relations, he proceeds to 
relegate most of them to the limbo of inconsequence by invoking a primipU which 
he calls the principle of iiuU termination. By virtue of this principle in every par* 
ticular case ^^xi^ particular determinations of all the terms become indeterminate and 
those of the intermediate terms doubly so. Thus the supposed facts of the case 
become fit for the existence of the Third condition, that of Abstraction^ and for the 
arising of a general concept or notion. 

But corresponding to every concept or notion is its negative or opposite con- 
cept or notion. As this negative deptends necessarily upon certain partiiuiar deter* 
mimitions of the same terms that bear the p^trtiailar determinations and which be- 
ing singly indeterminate admit of the positive concept or notion, there necessarily 
must obtain two systems of singly indeterminate parti tular dftermittativHS relative 
to but incompatible with one another, and so relative that the negation of one set 
entails the obtaining of the othtrr set. or in other words either set being negated en- 
tails the obtaining of the other set. These facts constitute what M. Mouret calls 
the principle of iatompntibility and involve his Ftutrth condition of J^elaiwity 
stated by him as follows : 

"All the particular determinations of the extreme terms must not be compat- 
ible with the system and the negation of certain relations of the system must entail 
the negation of the relation which they make between the extreme terms." 


Now we cannot regard this as a successful attempt to explain the nature and 
characteristics of relations, or to unfold the involutions of relation -lore. 

We fully realise that if every concept or relation resolves into a group of rela- 
tions we must in some form or other take what are relations in reality as data to be- 



gin with, but this does not prevent us from taking oar datum terms for our turn o! 
eirplanation as not requiriog at present any recognition other than as relational ele> 
inents. What is needful as a prime requisite on the very start of any research ii\, 
relation-lore is to ohtain a clear idea of what is meant by a relation. Meanings are 
primarily matters of mental status. We have to determine the relation that sub- 
sists between the mind and the object through the mediating interpretation of a 
word, and the mental affection lies nearest and logically comes first. It may very 
well be that the mental afifection requires correction, but this cannot take place un- 
til its faults are observed, and these cannot become evident until the mental affec- 
tionis itself duly understood. 

The disciples of that school of logic in which De Morgan and Boole, both emi- 
nent mathematicians, bold so exalted a rank as discoverers, regard cognition as aris- 
ing in consequence of brain functioning or m^ntdi o/>i'ru/ion and study the results of 
this operation as yielding their import in dependence upon and only in dependence 
upon the proper operation in virtue of which they arise. 

Now no cognition whatever, even of the most elementary sort, arises except in 
connection with and in consequence of that operation of the sensibility which is 
dhfint/t\m. Distinction is of multitudinous and manifold aspects. In all its phases 
whether it be passive or active it is naught else than the arising or the assigning of 
relations. The attempt to posit an unqualifiedly absolute — that is, an unqualifiedly 
a nrelaled— universe of discourse must be futile and blank, necessarily and insuper- 
ably. Any form of notation that pretends to express such a universe of discourse, 
is only saved, if at all, from being unqualt&edly nonsensical, by standing as anti- 
thetical — that is, by being fv/^ttf*/ to forms of notation that express relation and 
nothing else than relation, This rigorously prime operation of distinction is not 
only pure relation-ing but it is of that sort of relation-ing that is at once a distin- 
guishing and a conjoining. The '* One and the Many" are insuperably implicit 
therein. Distinction having operated to various extents, and thereby various re- 
lations having come into view, we become aware of those items of experience 
that are objects or facts. Each and every one of these objects or facts are in truth 
distinguished and are therefore in no strict sense imiisi^rmhle from each other, but 
since no science can possibly obtain in relation to mere particulars we iind it use- 
ful to disregard various points of distinction that obtain in respect to various objects 
and facts and to converge our regard upon the points wherein distinction, not abso- 
lutely vanishes, but temh tQ tmnish. 

By this operation, which is *^hstranttm, various objects and facts become in 
mental regard fit and useful to be taken as copies of one another and as indifferent 
for use in most of the turns of mental life. 

There are indeed various relations, objects, and facts, with respect to which no 
further operation or operations of distinction than the mere distinctions of the time, 
the place, or the occasion of their various manifestations have been applied nor 
can without great difficulty he applied. But we are therefore by no means entitled 



to say that such are in truth irresolvable. Contranly, and reasoning inductively 
we are justified in concluding that every relation, object, and fact will under anal- 
ysis of adetjuate power resolve without limit into other relations, objects, and facts. 

We are not yet prepared to see that the ullimate components of relations, ob- 
jects, and facts resolve into relations, and nothing but relations, because we are not 
yet prepared with an explicit idea of the nature and characteristics of these elemen- 
tary objects. 

The study of M. Motiret since it starts with relations combining them under 
the conditions of Solidarity Co-EKistence, Abstraction and Relativity, {which are 
nothing else than other relations or compounds of relations, ) does not seem to us to 
advance us at all in the most fundamental requisite. He says no more than to say 
that in order for the group)s of relations to generate further definite relations the 
relations thus grouped together must be related to one another and then that most 
of these relations must be disregarded, 

M. Mouret distinguishes, with respect to a relation three factors, the JAj/Ztr, or 
the relational elements grouped together, the Form, or the order in which the rela* 
tional elements are arrayed* and the Ftyitndation, 

As his study of the topic of relations is professedly for the purpose of enabling 
him the better to solve the nature of the relation of mathematical equality, his suc- 
cess may he estimated by reference to his conclusions in regard to that relation. 
These are as follows : " The relation of equality is formed of undetermined matter, 
it possesses a binary form, and has for a condition a relation of indiscemibility 
between the two elements." 

Such conclusions appear to us to be impotent not to say erroneous. If two 
things obtain at all. they obtain as two and not one, in very virtue of being distin- 
guished the one from the other. Except with regard to some more or less arbitrary 
distinctions, like the distinction between co-incident points, aU distinctions obtain 
only in virtue of some relation that can be nothing else than a point of disceruihil- 
ity. Numbers and other mathematical things are taken as not-different not because 
they are in truth indiscernible but because for the turn in hand their points of 
difference are irrelevant. 

Concerning the much mooted question of the proper field of logic as a science 
M. Mouret holds it to be the "science of relations and general concepts." Although 
we hold that logic is particularly concerned with the lore that is more directly 
related to the phenomena of erroneous thinking and its correction ^ the view of M. 
Mouret is not unacceptable, "Reasoning consists in the observation that where 
certain relations subsist certain others are found/' as Mr, Peirce has remarked. 


As preliminary to our account of relations we will make an observation which 
ems to us of considerable use in connection therewith. It is not without its bear- 



lag on the theory of definition or rather upon the broader theory of explanation With 
M. Mouret we hold that every concept and relation resolves into a compound of 
relations. Since relations are data that are absolutely eletnentary at least so far 
as we are at present instructed they are of course not subsiimable under any other 
sort of data that are better known. Moreover* whatever explanation we here make 
must needs be made by means of written words. Thus an important question arise4> as 
to what method is to be pursued in this special exigency. The theory of definition 
leads us to the same difficulty, for although the meanings of many words can be de- 
fined in terms that are more proximate to the elementary relations, we will always 
come at last to terms that admit of no improved explanation by such a method. There 
is no'device of words that can e^'ade or supersede the ultimate recourse to things. Now 
the significations of words are learned in most cases not so much by definitions and 
verbal descriptions as by tht ehservation of the various appliaitions of the words. In- 
deed this is the primitive way in which the meanings of words are found out. The 
child knows nothing of what, say, the word hors*: means until some one shows it an 
actual horse and may be pointing to it says repeatedly, /wrsr, in such a way as to 
excite the observation of the child to the intended application of the word to the 
thing. This is because the relation of every general sign to its object subsists only 
in consequence of a mental association, and until this mental association is created 
the sign has no meaning. The methods of evoking these mental associations are at 
present quite unmethodical and do not receive the attention which their importance 
merits. One feasible method is to present or to state a number of scenes that shall 
present the object in various ways in connection with the sign thereof, and thus to 
excite attention to the proper application of the sign. The geometer does this by 
means of his diagrams without which or their mental counterparts all his mere 
words would be in vain. 

Mr. Edward T. Dixon has lately published a work on the "Foundations of 
Geometry *' in which he would introduce as a fundamental datum what is really an 
altogether new and exceedingly abstract conception which he calls by an old name* 
that of i/rr<'i/i>«. The old term has never been as yet taken in any abstract uni- 
versal sense because apart from definite right lines showing it as an attribute any 
abstract universal meaning is wholly unassignable. But the conception that Mr, 
Dixon would instal is removed in abstractness from .such a universal yet one more 
step in universality. A three-fold infinity of right lines differing in direction can 
be drawn in ordinary space to each of which pertain two corresponding universals 
of direct ion t one converse to the other. Now the conception of direction that 
Mr. Dixon proposes for service as an elementary geometrical datum is the uni- 
versal that subsumes all these lower ranking universals as particulars. Of course 
he has difficulty in even trying to explain what he means. Realising the impossi- 
bility of subsuming it in any way he takes a method which if it were more thor- 
oughly applied, and wholly emancipated from the lingering notion of definition, 
might have been more successful. As he actually left the matter his real meaning 



can only be drawn from close study of the way in which he applies the term in his 
discourse in general. 

Owing to its excessive abstmctDess his conceplion is wholly unfit for service in 
eletnentary geometry. One has to become a good geometer before the conception 
can even be approached. 


We shall proceed to explain what we regard as a true and adequate notion of a 
relation by stating some scenes that display the same. We do not regard it as 
needful to state many of them and we take for our first one, the common transac- 
tion of making a donation. We have here for relational elements or terms as^hey 
are usually called a set of three. Separately, or as not yet brought into relation in 
virtue of the giving^ there may be, say tr an owner of ^F a watch and A* the in- 
tended beneficiary The plural fact of the giving is the ri/aiions/tip or ihe /ottMda- 
tion of the relatiom that arise in virtue of said giving. "X\(\^foundi}titm becomes to 
be in virtue of the creation of such relations by the giving. Either tme of the set of 
three may be taken as the datum of reference and according to the election in this 
respect, the relations may differ and the technical names we are about lo give Will 
vary in their application. Since simplicity will be gained thereby and also our 
present turn fully subserved we will take G as the datum term of reference. So 
taking it 6 is called the riiutt-' and both ff'and A' are called the unrehtes. For 
this present turn and in very virtue of the giving and only in virtue thereof G be- 
comes related to W and K in a certain relation one of the names of which is giver. 
When \V or A* are taken as relates certain other relations appear, some of the 
names of which are respectively pr^iseni and redpient. In relation to the relation of 
giver the relations of present and recipient are named rim-utM- relations, as are 
likewise the relations of present and giver to the relation of recipient and the rela- 
tions of giver and recipient to the relation of present. Here are three distinct rela- 
tions growiog out of the same relationship or foundation. As each relational ele- 
ment has its corresponding negation, the true logical system of a set of three terms 
involves not less than eight relations. 

We take for our second scene the case of a boundary This might be a surface 
or a point but we will take the special case of a line on a surface. Here we have 
again a set of three, the spread on one side, A^ the opposite spread, B, and the 
line /. A has a certain relation, say above, to / and B, B has the certain rela- 
tion, below, to A and L, which relation is converse to the relation above : and L 
has the certain relation, boundary, to ./ and B which relation is converse to the 
relations alx>ve and below. 

The two examples now given are cases of the iottjHgative kind. The relatioo- 
sbip is a conjugatlve one and the relations are conjugative relations. The distin- 
guishing characteristic of a conjugative case is the fact essentially involved of the 
mediation between relational elements by another certain element, or in other 



words the briDging of diverse relational elemeots into relation by the function of an- 
other relational element. Without the mediaUon or function of this conjugating 
element neither the relalionship nor the conjugative relations can exist. There is 
reason to believe that alt conjugative cases can be certified as cases of three rela* 
tional elements or as compounds of a number of such sets of three. To ordinary 
uncritical thought which is largely constrained by the trammels of ordinary lan- 
guage the most abundant sort of relations appears to be of that sort that are taken 
to involve only two relational elements. These are cases of what are called tiutil 
relationships and the relaiions that arise out of them are called */w/// relations. Such 
are those like father, son. husband, wife, etc. Strictly viewed they ought to be re- 
garded as degemrnte relationships and relations just as a pair of lines is regarded as 
a degenerate conic. 


Now besides the error of confounding relations with relationship, it is a very 
common fault to think and speak of a relation as being hetivcfn two or more terms. 
This imports into thought the thoroughly misleading idea of an intervening inde* 
pendent existence for relations. Relations are attributive predicates of terms and 
each one of them pertains strictly to its proper term or combination of terms, in 
the same sense for this turn {pro ka( x-Ui) that qualities are held to pertain to their 
so-called substances. And yet relations so pertain to their proper terms not in 
virtue of such terms separately but in virtue of their membership in the plural fact 
which obtains as the tc^hti&nsMp or fttumiiitioH. The notion of a relation as a 
*• bet ween o ess" has perhaps been fosiered by the exact coincidence of relations 
pertaining to the several members of the same relationship. When on contem- 
plating the connection, say of two points, we r>bser\'e that the distance of one from 
the other is apparently indistinguishable from the distance of the other from the 
one, we naturally overlook the fact that we are truly to regard the connection as the 
coincidence of two really distinct relations, and regarding the pair of relations as 
one thing and finding it not attributable toune point more than to the other we dis- 
sociate it from both. But when we consider a pair of relations that are converse 
to one another and that arise out of a dual relationship like that of husband and 
wife we may see that there is no betweenness, no single relation that interlies. but 
two relations, one the relation of husband and the other the converse relation of 

An interaction, say like that of approach under the tnf!uence of gravitation, is 
a relationship. Each body stands in the relation of a puth-r of the other and the 
mediating term which we find impossible to argue out of the account we call the 
attraction of gravitation. In this case the relation of action of the one body is not 
usually distinguished from the relation of action of the other one. Indeed this is 
the case in all cases of mechanical action and we lay it dow^ as a maxim thai ac- 
tion and reaction are equal but they are not alike since their directions are opposite 



Sensation is a relationship, since it is otir interaction The object inleracts with 
the brain. As to the conjugating term we are as yet in the dark and so we are in 
the habit of regarding this case as a dual relation. The relation of the brain to the 
object is that of a kmnvir and that of the object to the brain that of a stimulai^\ 
Each character or mark of the object that becomes apparent gives rise to relations 
and their respective converses each correlative pair of which are resjjectively so 
many distinct iateractions of detail in the entire interaction. Whatever an object 
as known to us is, it is in virtue of those relations of brain action and detailed ob- 
ject stimulation, which are relations and always relations. Since consciousness 
exists only by the arising of relations of distinction, supposably in consequence of 
internal brain interaction, is it presumptuous to allege that consciousness consists of 
relations or a complex of relations ? 


With regard to the object no one can prevent whoever may be so disposed, 
from imputing to it various points of possession that do not and cannot interact with 
the brain. So far as such imputed points are regarded as merely not yet interacting 
but possible to interact with knowing substance such jxiints in no wise differ in es- 
sential nature from the known attributes. They are potential relations and nothing 
else. But in so far as they are regarded as essentially impossible of ever interacting 
with knowing substance in any possible stage of its development such regard is pure 
nonsense and utterly without any assignable meaning. There is no occasion what- 
ever for such an imputation, for the existence of interaction actual or potential is 
fully adequate to explain all that will ever present itself to be explained. 

At this point let us instruct ourselves with an example of the reasonings of a 
much and deservedly honored philosopher. He says : 

"In the most general predicate which is iicf^rmineJ ^cmg or vxisten<Y — for all 
things in the universe are determined beings — we have an evident two-foidness (a 
composite nature) which allows of a further analysis into pure Being and determina* 

We will parallel this analysis. For the sake of simplicity we will take a limited 
right line. It has the determinations straight and long, not length in the sense of 
measure, for length is ambiguous in its intent, but length in its qualitative sense- 
its linearity so to speak. Now separate from it first its straightness without however 
giving to it any other determination, and then its quality of longness. We have 
then a /i/r^line. that is neither straight, nor long, nor anything else. Such is an ex- 
ample of " Pure Being " ifV say however that its very being as a line is absolutely 
dependent on its determination as a long line; that such a determination alone con- 
stitutes it a line, is at once its determination and its being, that there is no two- 
foldness at all but only two names, and that as one-fold its determination as long 
and its being vanish together. What is true of a line is true of all relations and 
compounds of relations whatever. 



Thus Qot cDly all knowledge but aJl existence so far as that term can ever have 
a ny meaning is relative; relative to all intents and for every possible turn. 

To those who accept the essentials of this account of relations it will be easy 
to see what is the nature of an object and that of a concept or notion. An object is a 
relation or some congeries of relations that nsually present themselves as a coherent 
whole to oar sensibility or to consciousness. This is primarily effected in virtue of 
some efficacy which we cannot appropriate to ourselves, and so we distinguish our 
own personality from that manifold that we call the objective world. It is pure 
self'Siultification after having made this most useful distinction to try and abolish 
it. Nothing but an titter abolition of all useful thought can result from so taking 
the data ot expenence. 


But objects are individual and generally found with various points of distinc- 
tion some of which are irrelevant to most of the tnrns of mental life. We therefore 
neglect the irrelevant points and take many objects as copies of one another. This 
process is mff the formation of the concept or notion but it suggests and prompts that 
formation. We cannot but regard it as an error to take a conception as a sum of 
individuals. It seems to us to be rather in the nature of a /t«t7#x. A curve contains 
an infinity of points and yet the curve is not any sum of points even though it is 
often allowable toL speak of it as the sum of all its points. So any concept, say, 
man, is not all the men that now live nor yet all the men that eternity both back- 
wards and forwards has contained and will contain. A concept is a manifold and 
strictly universal and infinite in respect to the particulars il subsumes. We speak 
of the infinitive mocKl of a verb because the meaDing of the word as thus taken is 
not put under any modification. In like manner the meaning of any concept though 
subject to various limitations in its applications is as a concept merely to be re- 
garded as obtaining in a purely infinitive sense. Professor Jevons found a difficulty in 
classifying what he called materia I terms, such as stone, sand, water, etc. Other 
logicians have put such terms as singular terms, while still others have classed them 
as general terms. There is a great variety of such terms. Potatoes, wheal, butter, 
ice, cattle, water, hydrogen, the names of all the elements, ether, electricity, time, 
space, love, virtue, etc., are instances It seems to us that such terms are the nor- 
mal types of general terms aod that the canonical forms of our universal proposi- 
tioDB ought to be unquantified not only as regards the predicates but also as regards 
the subjects. Why not *' man is animal " just as ''lard is grease" or "man is 
mortal ' just as " butter is cheap*'? 

Moreover the distinction between a general concept and one that is called 
singular is only one of degree and not of kind. Every so-called singular term is 
potentially at least only an individual instance under a possible general or universal 
concept. A striking example of this potentiality is furnished by the modern gen- 
eralisations of that formerly singular term, space. If these observations are well 


" Our natural way of thinking about these coarser emotions is that the mental 
percieption of some fact excites the mental affer.iion called the emotion, and that 
this latter state of mind gives rise to the bodily expression. My theory, on the con- 
trary, is that the bodily fhattges folioiv direct/y the percept it* n of the existing /act, 
and that aur fetling of the same changes, as they occur, is the emotion. Coininon 
sense says, we lose onr fortune, are sorry and weep ; we meet a bear, are frightened 
and run ; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. The hypothesis here to 
be defended says that this order of sequence is incoTrect* that the one mental state 
is not immediately induced by the other, that the l>odily manifestations must lirst 
be interposed between, and that the more rational statement is that we feel sorry 
because we cry, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble, and not that 
we strike, cry, or tremble, because we are sorry, angry or fearful, as the case may 
be. Without the bodily state following on the perception, the latter would be 
purely cognitive in form^ pale, colorless, destitute of emotional warmth. We might 
then see the bear and judge it best to run, receive the insult and deem it right to 
strike, but we should not actually yV-^/ afraid or angry. 

'' Stated in this crude way, the hypothesis is pretty sure to meet with immediate 
disbelief. And yet neither many nor far-fetched considerations are required to 
mitigate its paradoxical character, and possibly to produce cnnviction of its truth. 

"To begin with, no reader of the last two chapters will be inclined to doubt 
the fact that ohjecti do excite bodi/y changes by a preorganised mechanism, or the 
farther fact that the changes are so indefinitely nunurous and subtle that the entire 
organism may be called a sounding-board which every change of consciousness, how- 
ever slight, may make reverberate. . . . 

"The next thing to be noticed is this, that et^ery one af t hi bodily changes ^ whai- 
si^ivtr it be^ is felt, acutely or ohcurely^ (He moment it oanrs, . . . 

"I now proceed to urge the vital point of my whole theory, which is this: // 
«V fancy some strong emotion^ and then try to abstract from our consciousness of it 
all the feelings of its bodily symptoms^ 'oe find ive have nothing lift behind^ no ' mind- 
stuif ' out of which the emotion can be constituted, and that a cold and neutral state 
of intellectual perception is all that remains. It is true that, although most people 
when asked say that their introspection verifies this statement, some persist in say- 
ing that it does not. Many cannot be made to understand the question. When you 
beg them to imagine away every feeling of laughter and of tendency to laugh from 
their consciousness of the ludicrousness of an object, and then to tell you what the 
feeling of its ludicrousness would be like, whether it be anything more than the per- 
ception that the object belongs to the class 'funny/ they persist in replying that the 
thing proposed is a physical impossibility and that they always must laugh if they 
see a funny object. Of course the ta^k proposed is not the practical one of seeing 
a ludicrous object and annihilating one's tendency to laugh. It is the purely specu- 
lative one of subtracting certain elements of feeling from an emotional state sup- 
posed to exist in all its fulness, and saying what the residual elements are. I can- 
not help thinking that all who rightly apprehend this problem will agree with the 
proposition above laid down What kind of an emotion of fear would be left if the 
feeling neither of quickened heart-beats nor of shallow breathing, neither of trem- 
bling lips nor of weakened limbs, neither of gn<>se- flesh nor of visceral stirrings, 
were present, it is quite impossible for me to think. Can one fancy the state of 
rage and picture no ebullition in the chest, no Bushing of the face, no dilatation of 
the nostrils, no clenching of the teeth, no impulse to vigorous action, but in their 
siead limp mnscles, calm breathing and a placid face ? The present writer, for one. 



certainly cannot. The rage is as completely evaporated as the sensation of its so- 
called manifestations, and the only thing that can be supposed to take its place is 
some cold-blooded and dispassionate sentence, confined entirely to the judicial realm* 
to the efiect thai a certain person or persons merit ch.istisement for their sins. In 
like manner of grief : what would it be without its tears, its sobs, its suffocation of 
the heart, its pang in the breast-bone ? A feelingless recognition that certain cir- 
cumstances are deplorable, and nothing more. Every passion in turn tells the 
same stor>', A purely disembodied human emotion is a nonentity." (P. 449 seq.) 

It is, of course, impossible for me to give all the arguments by w^hich Profes- 
sor James attempts to establish his position ; the above quotations will make it clear 
what it is — namely, that all our "feelings*' are sensations. 

Before proceeding to consider some of the objections to this view of the matter, 
it may be well to notice briefly what seems to lie a gap in the author's treatment of 
it, In adult human beings, very few. comparatively, of what are ordinarily rcKiog- 
nised as emotions follow directly upon the perception of their objects, in the ordi* 
nary sense of the word. His theory might perhaps suffice, without further expla- 
nation for such cases as the '* spitting " of blind kittens at the smell of a dug, or the 
rage of a bull at the sight of a red cloth, or the startled feeling that we exp>erience 
at a loud and unexpected sound, if the latter should be called an emotion. But in 
the immense majority of instances the emotions of which he treats arise in a very 
different way. 

Some of his own illustrations will serve as well as any to show this For in- 
stance, neither running nor any other of the symptoms of fear which he enumerates 
is the necessary result of seeing a bear. A chained or caged bear may excite only 
feelings of curiosity, and a well armed hunter might experience only pleasurable 
feelings at meeting one loose in the woods. It is not, then, the perception of the 
bear that excites the movements of fear. We do not run from the bear unless we 
suppose him capable of doing us bodily injury. Why should the expectation of be- 
ing eaten, for instance, set the muscles of our legs in motion ? ** Common sense" 
would be (ikely to say it was because we object to being eaten, but aca.>rdLng to 
Professor James, the reason we dislike to be eaten is because we run away. So, 
again, striking is not a reflex act, following on the hearing of an insult as sneezing 
does on taking snufl:. Whether the muscular movements or the emotions are the 
primary thing, what both shall be depends on many things besides the words that 
arc spoken. To be accused of drunkenness or unchastity, for instance, would dis- 
pose some persons to violence* but others might feel only the stirrings of pride at 
what they would consider a tribute to their manhood. In those who considered 
such a charge opprobrious, it might excite feelings of amusement, contempt, pity, 
or grief towards the one makiag it. according to the estimation in which he was 
held. To ^y that if it makes us strike we shall be angry, if it makes us laugh we 
^hall be amused, if it makes us weep we shall be grieved, does not go to the bottom of 
the matter. According to the theory, the thought of the estimation in which we 



are held by others is, in itaelt entirely indifferent to us, nod only affects oar feel- 
ings through the muscular movements it excites. 

In view of the variety of these movements in response to the same physical 
stimulus in a case like this, the statement that objects excite bodily changes by a 
preorganised mechanism explains nothing. We want to know why in one case a 
given perception excites one set of movements, and in another an entirely different 
set. Without attempting to decide whether or not a satisfactory explanation can be 
given on Profe^isor James's hypothesis, I will only say, that, so far as I can see, he 
nowhere attempts it In his section on "The Genesis of the Various Emotions/' 
{pp, 477 seq.). he only discusses the question how the various feelings come to be 
associated with their respective movements. How the movements come to be asso- 
ciated with the perceptions, he does not discuss at all. 

Turning now to the considerations which Professor James urges in support of 
his theory* quoted above, the first two — that objects excite bodily changes and that 
these changes are more or less distinctly felt — may pass unchallenged. I am dis- 
posed to go as far with him as to admit that these feelings, in the cases which be 
describes, may properly be considered components of the emotional state. But 
when he affirms that there is nothing else — that if we subtract our consciousness of 
peripheral sensations there would be no emotion left — it seems to me that he is go- 
ing very much too far. I should have no hesitation in saying that such a statement 
of the case is contradicted by my consciousness, but as that wonld be merely setting 
up my consciousness against his, without the possibility of an umpire. I will call at- 
tention to some other considerations which seem to me to render it improbable. 

In the first place^ it is to be noticed that the cases he instances in illustration 
of his position are all of violent emotions. Admitting that we cannot have these 
emotions, vn such degree^ without movements such as he describes, nor even imagine 
how they would feel if such a thing were possible, it does not follow because they 
cannot be separated that they are identical. We do not reason in this way in regard 
to those feelings which are not commonly called emotions. I can no more imagine 
myself in intense bodily pain without a tendency to groan and writhe than deeply 
grieved without a tendency to weep, and yet no one. probably, would say that the 
pain consisted solely in my consciousness of the groaning and writhing. If grief is 
a kind of pain, it is to be expected that, in a high degree, it will produce bodily 
movements more or less similar to those excited by other sorts of pain. All these 
emotions, however, are capable of infinite gradations in intensity. The fear of losing 
one's pocket handkerchief is an emotion of the same kind as the fear of losing one's 
fortune. In Professor James's description of fear, it is evident that he has abject 
terror in mind. I hardly think it probable that he has any such sensations, when 
he fears, for instance, that he will be late to dinner, and yet he must be differently 
constituted from many of his fellow-men if bis state of mind in such a case is merely 
a cold, intellectual cognition of the fact that such a state of affairs would be unde- 



The same is true of the other emotions he menttoiis. The feeling of the ludi- 
crous is, perhaps, the strong^ case be dies, but in my own case slight degrees of 
amusement do not excite laughter, or even any conscious disposition to laugh. 
There is, at the most, in such cases, a tendency to smile, which may be overpowered 
by some other emotion, without in the least impairing my feeling of amusement. It 
seems to me certain that slight degrees of all the emotions mentioned may be unac- 
C3ompanied by any distinct consciousness of reflex movements. In such cases it is 
only by a pretty strong efort of attention that we are able, if at all. to determine 
what the bodily changes are, although we are distinctly aware of the emotion. 

A^pin, it is to be noticed that many actions, similar in character to those we 
have been considering, are not associated with what are commonly called emotions. 
Laughing and sobbing, for instance, are spasmodic movements of the muscles of 
respiration, not strikingly different from hiccupfng. and there seems no good reason 
why the consciousness of the former two ^loald usually be felt as strong emotional 
excitement, while the latter is not. In some cases, movements identical with those 
accompanying particular emotions may occur entirely independently of them. Shiv- 
ering from cold, for instance, is the same sort of a movement as may oocar ia vio- 
lent fright, but it does not make us feel frightened. The laughter excited in children 
and sensitive persons by tickling of the skin is not necessarily accompanied by any 
mirthful feelings. The act of vomiting may be the accompaniment of the most ex- 
treme disgust, or it may occur without a trace of such emotion. Professor Jam^ 
himself gives an instance of this sort that can hardly be bettered . 

" The writer well remembers bis astonishment, when a boy of seven or eight. 
at fainting when he saw a horse bled. The blood was in a bucket, with a stick in 
it, and if memory does not deceive faim. he stirred it round and saw it drip from the 
stick with no feeling save that of childish curiosity. Suddenly the world grew black 
before his eyes, his ears began to buzz, and he knew no more. He had never heard 
of the sight of blood producing faintness or sickness, and he had little repugnance 
to it, and so little apprehension of any other sort of danger from it. that even at 
that tender age, as be well remembers, he could not help wondering how the mere 
physical presence of a pailful of crimson fluid could occasion in him such formidable 
boddy effects ' (p. 457). 

Here we have a condition such as is sometimes expjerienced in connection with 
the most extreme degree of fear or grief unaccompanied by any emotion except as- 
tonishment at its occurrence. I presume that if a person should faint on hearing 
bad news. Professor Jeimes would consider that one of the causes of his intense 
emotion Why did it have no such effect in this case ? 

Assuming that the emotions are the effects and not the causes of what are usu- 
ally reckoned as their ''expression,'" it seems evident that a given movement or set 
of movements must uniformly, at least in the same subject, give rise to the same 
feeling, and that in the case of opposite emotions such as joy and grief, hope and 
fear, the more intense the emotion, the more unlike roost be the actions from which 



it arises. Neither of these is the case. On the contrary, it would seem to be the 
fact that the actions acoampanymg emotioD tend to become more alike in proportion 
to its intensity. It is not ai all iincommoD for people to weep from excess of joy as 
well as of grief. Pallor and trembling are frequtint accompaniments of the extremes 
of hope as well as fear. The naturalist Wallace gives an account of his feelinjifs on | 
capturing a rare and beautiful butterfly, which is worth quoting in this connection : 

" The beauty and brilliancy of this insect are indescribable^ and none but a 
naturalist can understand the intense excitement I experienced when I at length 
captured it. On taking it out of the net and opening the glorious wings, my heart 
began to beat violently, the blood rushed to my head, and I felt more like fainting 
than I have done when in prospect uf immediate death I had a headache the rest 
of the day. so great was the excitement produced by what will appear to most peo- 
ple a very inadequate cause " (•* Malay Archipelago/' p, 342). 

Here it is evident that a feeling of intense exultation gave rise to sensa lions 
very similar, to say the least , to those of extreme fear, 

" One other argument brought forward by the author deserves special notice in 
this connection : 

"The best proof that the immediate cause of emotion is a physical effect on 
the nerves is furnished by thoac pafhi^loi^ita I states in whiih the emodon is ohjtittess. 
One of the chief merits, in fact, of the view which \ propose, seems to be that we 
can so easily formulate by its means pathological cases and normal cases under a 
common scheme. In every asylum T»e find examples of absolutely unmotived fear, 
anger, melancholy, or conceit, and others of an equally unmotived apathy, which 
persists in spite of the best of outward reasons why il should give way In the for- 
mer cases we must suppose the nervous machinery to be so ' labile ' in some one 
emotional direction that almost every stimulus (however inappropriate) causes it to 
upset in that way, and to engtmder the particular complex of feelings of which the 
psychic body of that emotion consists. Thus, to take one special instance, if in- 
ability to draw deep breath, fluttering of the heart, and that peculiar epigastric 
change felt as 'precordial anxiety," with an irresistible tendency to take a some- 
what crouching attitude and to sit still, and with perhaps other visceral processes 
not now known, all spontaneously occur tcvgether in a certain person ; his feeling of 
their combination is the emotion of dread, and he is the victim of what is known as 
morbid fear" (p, 458), 

Now, it is evident, of course, in such a case as this, that such a combination of 
feelings as is here described is not a fortuitous coincidence of so many independent sen- 
sations. They must have a common starting-point, which cannot well be elsewhere 
than in the brain But if this is the case, it seems to me to be l>egging the questioii 
to assume that the sensations and not the emotion are the primary thing On the 
assumption that fear, in the normal condition, is the cause of the disturbances of 
respiration, circulalinn, and the like, which accompnuy it. it is as easy to formulate 
normal and palhological cases under a common scheme, by supposing it to be the 
cause of the like disturbances in cases of morbid feir, as on the theory of Professor 



It seems to me, then, that the theory does not satislactorily account for the 
facts, so far as the involuntary, reflex accompaniments of motion are concerned. 

The difficulty is greatly increased when we consider the relations of emotbn to 
voluntary action. We have seen that reflex acts, similar to, or identical with those 
in which Professor James believes emotion to consist, may occur independently of 
emotion, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, at least. Strictly voluntary acts, on 
the contrary, are always the concomitants of emotion of some sort* In the great 
majority of the ordinary actions of life, they are the only motor phenomena of which 
we are aware in this connection. Our whole daily conduct, in our business and 
pleasure, our incomings and our outgoings, our downsittings and uprisings, is in* 
separably associated with our likings and dislikings, our hopes and fears. What is 
the nature of this association ? 

Under the theory we are considering, two relations of voluntary acts to emotion 
are possible. They may, like the involuntary reactions, constitute the emotion, or 
tmUke them, result from it. f^rofessor James does not express himself on the gen- 
eral question, but some of his rat ions seem to favor the former view^ If the 
man who meets a bear is frightened because he runs, or the one who is insulted, 
angry because he strikes, the voluntary acts of running and striking must, in part, 
at least, constitute the emotions of fear and anger in these cases. Let us, then, con- 
sider this case first. 

If I see a shower coming up, and run for a shelter, the emotion is evidently of 
the same kind, though perhaps less in degree, as in the case of the man who runs 
from the bear. According to Professor James, I am afraid of getting wet because 
I run. But supposing that, instead of running. 1 step into a shop and buy an um- 
brella. The emotion is still the same. I am afraid of getting wet, Consequently, 
so far as I can see. the fear, in this case, consists in buying the umbrella. Fear of 
hanger, in like manntrr, might consist in laying in a store of provisions; fear of 
poverty, in shoveling dirt at a dollar a day, and so on indefinitely. Anger, again, 
may be associated with many other actions than striking. Shy lock's anger at An- 
tonio's insults induced him to lend him money. Did the anger, or revengefulness, 
or whatever we may call the passion, consist in the act of lending the money ? I 
hardly think it necessary to multiply instances in illustration of the fact that the 
same act is often associated with the most contradictory emotions, and acts which 
are ordinarily indifferent with the most intense feeling ; that, in fact, there is no 
such uniformity in the associations of emotion with voluntary conduct as the by- 
pothesis would seem to require I incline to think that most people will believe, in 
the cases cited by Professor James, that the running and the striking are the results, 
not the causes of the fear and anger. 

If we assume such to be the case, we are no better off under the hypothesis we are 
considering. Excluding voluntary movements, there is nothing left of the emotion, ac- 
cording to Professor James, but the consciousness of involuntary, reflex acts resulting 
from perception. The voluntary acts must, then. l>e directly cause.1 by these Now, 




in ihe first place, it is often difficult, if not impossible, to tell what these actions are. 
What are the involuntary muscular contractions that impel a day-laborer to go to 
the place of his work, and keep his voluntary muscular system in strenuous activity 
all day, enduring fatigue and all the discomforts of the summer's heat or winter's 
cold? It would probably puzzle him very much to tell, although he has a very clear 
idea of why he does it. I doubt if, on his own hypothesis, Professor James himself 
would find it easy to explain the constituents of the emotions which impel him to go 
to the class-room at the appointed hour and conduct a recitation. But even in cases 
in which we are distinctly conscious of involuntary action, there seems to be no 
connection between it and the voluntary acts accompanying the emotion. In the 
case of the man running from the bear, for instance, trembling lips, weakened limbs, 
goose-flesh and visceral stirrings have nothing to do with running, but, on the con- 
trary, would rather tend to prevent it. In fact it may be said, in general, that the 
two classes of emotional activities are mutually antagonistic. The more involuntary 
the action, the less efficient the voluntary activity is apt to be, as any one knows who 
has had an attack of the "buck ague/' We should have, therefore, diminution of 
the efiect with increase of the cause. 

It seems, then, on the hypothesis, impracticable to account for the association 
of voluntary action with emotion either on the supposition that the former is the 
cause or the result of the latter. A third alternative — that there is no relation of 
cause and effect in the case, and that the phenomena of emotion and action, although 
constantly associated, are really independent. I will not discuss, as it does not com* 
mend itself to my mind, and Professor James, elsewhere, expressly repudiates it. 
It seems to me that the only reosonable conclusion is that emotion is something dif- 
ferent from either involuntary or voluntary muscular activity, and which may be 
the cause of either or both. 

Professor James, after admitting that the view of the subject which he advo- 
cates is only a hypothesis, and that much is lacking to its definitive proof, goes on 
to say : 

• The only way coercively to <//Vprove it. however, would be to take some emo- 
tion and then exhibit qualities of feeling in it which should be dt-mtmstrahty addi- 
tional to all those which could possibly be derived from the organs affected at the 
time. But to detect with certainty such purely spiritual qualities of feeling would 
obviously be a task beyond human power. ... ...,..,.,..,., 

''A positive proof of the theory would, on the other hand, be given, if we could 
find a subject absolutely anaesthetic inside and out, but not paralytic, so that emo- 
tion-inspiring objects might evoke the usual bodily expressions from him, but who, 
on being consulted, should say that oo subjective emotional affection was felt. Such 
a man would be like one who, because he eats, appears to bystanders to be hungry, 
but who afterwards confesses that he had no appetite at all." (F*. 455.) 

Whether the truth of the first of the above paragraphs is to be conceded or not, 
depends, I suppose, on the strength of proof necessary for coercion. The only way, 
for instance, coercively to disprove the once prevalent theory that " lunacy" is due 





to the iDfluence of Ihe moon would be to abolish the moon. Most intelligent peo- 
ple, however, at the present day, accept the fact that there seems to be no coinci* 
dence l^tween the moon's phases and the phenomena of insanity as sufficient proof 
for practical purposes of the incorrectness of that theory. It seems to me that the 
facts to which I have called attention show a somewhat similar lack of correspond- 
ence in the case we have been considering, 1 am. however, unable to s^ why a 
case of complete anaesthesia, such as is supposed in the second paragraph, would 
not answer nearly as well for one side of the question as the other, according to the 
presence or absence of emotion. To suppose that cutaneous and visceral sensa- 
tions are preserved unimpaired for purposes of emotion, while at>solutely abolished 
for all other purposes, would be putting a pretty severe strain on the faculty of 

Such cases, as Prof essor j ames says, are hard to find. He refers to one, re- 
ported by Strtimpell, in which a boy, anaesthetic within and without, with the excep- 
tion of one eye and one ear, was slated to have manifested shame, grief, surprise, 
fear, and anger. He goes on, however, to say: "In observing him, however, no 
such theory as the present one seems to have been thought of ; and it always re- 
mains possible that, just as he satlsAed his natural appetites and necessities in cold 
blood, with no inward feeling, so his emotional expressions may have been accom* 
panied by a quite cold heart." 

Since Professor James's work was published, two cases have been rept»rted by 
Berkley.* which, although not, perhaps, conclusive, are of interest in this connec- 
tion In the first, the patient, a woman of English birth, age not stated, had com- 
plete loss of sense of pain, heat and cold, pressure and equilibrium, of smell, taste, 
and sight. The sense of touch, although not completely abolished, was very greatly 
impaired. She recognised a hat, for instance, only after feeling of it for a long 
time and then seemed doubtful about it. Her sense of the position of the exlremi- 
ties was also very imperfect, although not entirely abolished ; and there was some 
deafness, although not enongh to render her incapable of conversation. With regard 
to her mental slate. Eh-. Berkley says : 

"The psychical condition has undergone but slight change, she is possibly a 
little apathetic, with some slight tendency towards a melancholic tone, but when 
aroused and induced to converse for some time, this in great measure passes away. 
The memory is quite good/' 

Dr Berkley was kind enough to give me the following additional information 
about this patient, who. at the time of writing, was still nnder observation : 

" Since the coming on of the dullness in hearing there has been a considerable 
degree of apathy manifest. She is no longer conscious of the smaller noises that 
occur around her, but is very readily aroused by the voice, and then takes a lively 

♦ 7Vw» Ca4*s 0/ GtM^TAl CmtAn*0Ut and Stmory Antrttkriia, without Mi^rktd f^gjfchiciBl Implica^ 
tii»n. By Henry J. Berkley, K. D., Baltimore. [Eraia, pArt IV, 1891] 



interest in what is said to her : for instaDce a few days ago the resident physician 
remarked to her thai he was going to obtain a pair of crutches tor her uae ; she 
laughed heartily at the idea, and said she would fall and break her leg at the Jirst 

In response to further inquiries, he writes as follows : 

" r) Visceral sensations. The clearest evidence of visceral sensation I have 
noted in my article," [warning of the necessity of evacuating the bowels and blad- 
der by a pricking pain in the lower part of the abdnraen,] "no others were suffi- 
ciently definite to be described For two years there has been no feeling of hunger 
or thirst, and as the diet has only been a few mouthfuls of milk at a time for nearly 
that period^ there has been no feeling of repletion. 

"2) When the patient laughs at a joke, there is a shght flushing of the face, 
besides the ordinary contraction of the facial muscles ; she is aware that she is 
laughing, but besides acknowledging that she perceives no difference between the 
act now, and some years ago, she is unable to describe the sensation further. 

"3) Anger, As I think I mentioned in my last letter, the patient has been a 
person of unusually rqual temper : an outbreak of real passion has never been ob- 
served with her. When annoyed or teased by some of the other women, there is a 
distinct corrugation of the forehead, accompanied by an exceedingly slight general 
movement as if of aversion, no words, movement of the chest, clenching of the 
hands, etc. She describes the sensation as one of repulsion. 

"Like Strumpell's case she shows definitely shame, grief, surprise, fear, and 
substituting for anger, repulsion. 

" My own impression derived from observation of the patient is, that all mental 
emotional sensibilities are present and only a little less vivid than in the unanaes- 
ihetic state ; and that emotions are approximately natural, and not at all coldly dis- 

In the second case, that of a Russian woman, aged thirty-five, there was com- 
plete loss of cutaneous sensibility in all its qualities: the sense of position (''mus- 
cular sense"} was almost completely abolished ; the sense of taste was absent in the 
anterior two- thirds of the tongue. Smell, sight, and hearing were preserved. She 
had left the hospital before the article was written. In regard to her case, Dr. 
Berkley writes : 

'•While in the most absolute state of ansesthesia (auditory and visual excepted) 
there was no departure from a normal psyche ; the woman would sometimes be 
angered when she did not understand a question, at others would smile or shake her 
head, and would frequently laugh and talk with another Russian woman in the 
same ward. There was never the slightest apathy manifest alter the first few days 
of febrile movement/* 

I give these cases for what they are worth. In the first, it is evidently impos- 
sible to entirely exclude the presence of sensations caused by the reflex acts, and 
the second, not having, apparently, been examined with special reference to the 
subjective side of her emotiooa] manifestations, may be open to the same objection 
which Professor James makes against Striimpeirs case. To me it seems extremely 
unlikely that, if the theory under discussion is correct, such an amount of ansesthe- 



sia as existed in these cases would have produced no obvious effect on ihe emotions. 
The fact that voluntary acts were performed by both these patients as well as by 
Striimpeirs case, seems to me conclusive as to the existence of emotioDS of some 
sort in all of them. 

It seems clear to me, from the foregoini;; considerations, that there are serious 
difficulties in the way of accepting Professor James's theory as an adequate explana- 
tion of all the phenomena of emotion. On the other hand, I think it contains an 
important truth, and that, by calling attention to it, he has rendered a real service 
to psycholog>'. In order to make it clear how far 1 agree with him, it will be neces* 
sary to consider just what feelings are to be classed together under the head of 

If we touch our Sogers to a live coal, we are conscious of a sensation of heal, 
and also of pain. If we take quinine into our mouths, it tastes bitter, and also dis- 
agreeable. So Ln regard to a very large proportion of our sensations, we recognise 
two elements^ — one which has to do with the qualities of the object^ and another 
consisting of the pleasurable or painful way in which those qualities affect us. The 
former may be called the ot>jective element in sensation. We think of the heat as 
residing in the coal, whether we are touching it or not, but it never occurs to us to 
think of the coal as in pain. The pain is in us — ^an entirely subjective feelingt 
Doubtless there is no more reason to think of heat, as it is appreciated by our 
senses, as a property of Ihe coal, than pain, but that is the way in which we natnr' 
ally think of it. That these two elements are really distinct is evident from the 
fact that the different senses furnish them in different proportions. Comparatively 
few sights, for instance, give any such sensuous pain to the eye as the sensation pro- 
duced by getting a graip of sand under the lid, which gives us very little information 
in regard to the qualities of the offending substance. In fact, it is generally true 
that intensity of pleasurable^ or painful sensation is a hindrance to exact knowledge 
of its object. It is further evident from the fact that, in disease, one form of sensi 
bility may be abolished while (he other is retained. A person may be able to feel 
the slightest touchy and to recognise perfectly the size, shape, and texture of the 
objects he handles, and yet feel no pain when cut, struck, or burned, or he may have 
even heightened sensibility to painful impressions with loss of the power to recog- 
nise the sensible qualities of objects. 

Now, although we are accustomed to distinguish between emotions and purely 
Sensuous pleasures and pains, there are some points, at least, at which it is not easy 
to draw the line. My pleasure in the anticipation of a good dinner is undoubtedly 
an emotion. Is not my pleasure in eating it entitled to the same name, and does 
not the latter consist in the reality of the sensations which in the former case were 
enjoyed in imagination ? Is not the enjoyment we feel in the smell of mignonette, 
the tone of a sweet voice* the color and form of the rainbow, emotion ? Yet it con- 
sists largely, if not entirely, in the agreeableness of the sensations. Most people 
would probably think it strange to hear hunger and thirst spoken of as emotions 


ckith:isms as«d discussions. 


Kisied in these cases would have prcxluced no obvious effect on the emotions. 
f^ct that voluntary acts were performed by both these patients as well as by 
Ifnpell's case, seems to me conclusive as to the existence of emotions of some 
lioftll of them, 

(it seems clear to me, from the foregoing considerations, that there are serious 
btilties in the way of accepting Professor James's theory as an adequate ex pi ana- 
oC all the phenomena of emotion. On the other hand, I think it contains an 
l>rtftiit truth, and that, by calling attention to it, he has rendered a real service 
^ychoJugy- In order to make it dear how far I agree with him, it will be neces- 
1 to consider just what feelings are to be classed together under the head of 

If we touch our fingers to a live coal, we are conscious of a sensation of beat, 
lako of pain. If we take quinine into ottr mouths, it tastes bitter, and also dis* 
liable. So in regard to a very large proportion of our sensations, we recognise 
I elements — one which has to do with the qualities of the object, and another 
pisting of the pleasurable or painful way in which those qualities affect us. The 
nay be called the objective element in sensation. We think of the heat as 
Jin the coal, whether we are touching it or not, bui it never occurs to us to 
f the coal as in pain. The pain is in us — an entirely subjective feeling, 
no more reason to think of heat, as it is appreciated by our 
rty of the coal, than pain, but that is the way in which we nalur- 
of it* That these two elements are really distinct is e\'ident from the 
fthe different senses furnish them in different proportions. Comparatively 
for instance, g^ive any such sensuous pain to the eye as the sensation pro- 
^ get ting a graip of sand under the lid, which gives us very little information 
to the qualities of the offending substance. In fact, it is generally true 
pl< a^Lu.^Lle . .T P.'imful sensation is a hindrance to exact knowledge 
roro the fact that, in disease, one form of sensi 
her is reiaine4 A person may be able to feel 
' the "iize. shape, and texture of the 
k, or burned, or he may have 
ss of the power to recog* 

., , iu3tions and purely 
.-i^-i ^vliich it is not easy 
is undoubtedly 
name, and does 
former case were 
lell of mignonette, 
emotion ? Yet it con- 
e sensations. Most people 
thirst spoken of as emotions 



but would readily agree that desire of food or drink is as much an emotion as any 
other desire. Is the desire in this case anything more than the hunger or thirst ? 

I am ioclioed to think that it is proper to call such pleasures and pains as I 
have instanced above emotions, and if so, I see no reason for denying the name to 
any sensuous pleasures and pains. If Professor James's view is that all feeling is 
sensation, I should say that all feeling is emotion. Whether this view is correct or 
not, I do not see how Professor James can consistently refuse to accept it. On his 
theory^ the emotions which he discusses must owe their pleasurable or painful qual- 
ity to the pleasurable or painfiU nature of the sensations in which they consist. I 
can see no valid ground for saying that some such feelings axe emotions and others 
are not But the essence of emotion is pleasure or pain. Abstracting these quaii- 
lies, it would be an indifferent emotion, which, 1 think all would agree, is a contra- 
diction in terms. Possibly he might wish to limit the use of the term to those pleas- 
urable and painful feelings, which arise not directly, but in a reflex way. He might 
say, for instance, that the disagrees bleness to the ear of the creaking of an un- 
greased axle is not, but the shudder which it gives a sensitive person is, emotion. 
In that case, it must be admitted that a sneeze is emotion. His contention is that 
we have no other pleasures or pains than those of sensation. If this be true, a set- 
ting off of some sensations as emotions is, if not an arbitrary, a comparatively use- 
less procedure. 

My own view, then, is that the elements of sensation which I have spoken of as 
objective and subjective might, with equal propriety, be characterised respectively 
as intellectual and emotional, and that in this direction the theory under discussion, 
although true as far as it goes, does not go far enough. 

However this may be. the admission or denial that these feelings are emotions 
does not necessarily affect the question whether or not this is the only origin of 
pleasure and pain. As has already been said, those feelings to which no one will 
deny the name of emotions are not usually, in adult human beings, at least, direct 
reactions on sensation. If it be true that the start we give at the unexpected slam* 
ming of a door is a sort of fright* it is a very rudimentary sort compared with that 
which one feels when the cry of fire is raised in a crowded theatre, "A burnt 
child dreads the fire." It is not the sight of the fire, but the thought of the burn- 
ing, that arouses the emotion. When a man reads in the newspaper of the death 
of a friend, or a rise in the value of property in which he is interested, it is not the 
sight of the black marks on the white paper, but the beliefs which, through a long 
and intricate series of associations they call up, which move his feelings. If he could 
not read, he would see the same announcement without any emotion. The usual 
origin of the emotions far exeelhnie is by way of association. 

Suppose that I have taken a nauseous dose, and made a wry face over it. No 
one, I presume, would question that the disagreeableness lay in the unpleasant 
taste, and not in the distortion of the countenance. Now, suppose I have to repeat 
the dose, and my face takes on a similar expression at the anticipation to that which 

CRrnciSMs and discussions. 


it wore when I took it originally. How does this come about ? If 1 can trust my 
own coDsciousness, it is because the vivid reproduction, in memory, of the unpleas- 
ant taste is itself unpleasant. I do not see how it can well be otherwise. Professor 
James says (p. 649) that " the first element of> memory is the revival in the mind of 
an image or copy of the original event." How can I have a copy in my mind of a 
pain if it is not painful ? Take away the painfnlness of it and there would be 
nothing left. I might remember the circumstances under which it occurred, and 
judge from them that I must have sufiered pain, but I could not. it seems to me, re- 
member the pain itself. Whether that is jxissible or not, I feel sure that the fact, 
tn my own case, is, that my memory of a pain resembles it in the same way that my 
memory of the circumstances in which it occurred resembles them. If this be the 
fact, what can be more natural than that it should excite the same sort of associated 
movements that were excited by the original sensation ? I cannot make it seem any 
more credible, to return to the example mentioned above, that my repugnance to a 
repetition of the dose is due to my involuntary movements than that my discomfort 
La taking it originally was due to the similar movements that occurred then 

Suppose that a child who has eaten and enjoyed an orange is offered another. 
The sight of it calls up the recollection of the agreeable taste, and the expectation 
of a repetition of the pleasant experience excites expressions of pleasure. If the 
fruit is snatched away, the disappointment at the loss of the expected pleasure is 
distressing, and very probably may result in his weeping. I hardly think that any 
one who will consult his own consciousness will say that the reason he likes the 
taste of an orange is that it makes him laugh or smile to get it. He likes it because 
it tastes good, and is sorry to lose it for the same reason. The laughing or weeping 
is, 1 think, unque-stionably the result of the pleasure or grief, not of the mere per- 
ception of an object in itself indifferent, 

It is true that emotions of this sort do not always arise by way of personal asso- 
ciation. Young children are apt to be afraid of strangers, of large animals, and of 
loud noises. I can remember being frightened at my first sight of a locomotive. 
Here we come upon the quesfions of inherited experience and natural selection, 
which can hardly be discusstnl in an article like this. The objects of which young 
children are mslinctively afraid, as a rule, are either dangerous themselves* or more 
or less similar to dangerous objects. I see no more difficulty in supposing that 
mental pleasure and pain, on the sight of special objects, may be a matter of organi- 
sation than in the case of the analogous physical sensations. 

My view of the matter, then, is that emotion in the sense in which the word is 
commonly used bears th« same relation to perceptions or beliefs that feelings of 
physical pleasure or pain do to the objective or intellectual quality of sensations. 
I am inclined to think it proper to class all pleasurable and painful feelings together 
as emotions. If this view is correct, it would, of course, include those feelings to 
which Professor James would confine the term I should not at all hesitate to ad- 
mit that the emotional state of a person who trembles and turns pale with fear is 



different from that of one who preserves Ills self -possessioD m the presence of a dan- 
ger that he realises and dreads. I think it is true that the voluntary actions 
prompted by an emotion have some tendency to intensify it. But, so far as I can 
analyse my own feelings, the pleasures and pains of memory and imagination seem 
to me Just as real as those of sensation, and not at all to be confounded with them. 
When I try to subtract all motor reactions and resulting sensations from the feeling 
of fear, for instance, there remains not merely the iDtellectual perception that the 
event dreaded is not desirable, but the perfectly distinct emotional cofisciousness 
that I do not desire it. 

This view seems to be favored by the analogy belween the relations of sensa- 
tion to reflex movement on the one hand, and of perception to voluntary movement 
on the other, which will, I think, be found to be very complete. We have reflex 
acts which are uscjful, such as breathing, the beating of the heart, swallowing and 
coughing ; and others, like groaning, weeping, and trembling, which seem to be use- 
less. In like manner, emotions of hope or fear may give rise to voluntary acts cal- 
culated to enable the subject of the emotion to secure or avoid its object. If I bum 
my lingers, my hand is involuntarily snatched away. Such would not he the case 
if the burn caused no pain. If 1 see that the house is on lire, i try to escape, either 
by extinguishing the fire or by getting out of the house. It seems to me evident 
that I should not do so if the thought of being burned were not painful Such emo- 
tions may also occasion useless acts, more or less similar to those mentioned above. 
A person who saw no way of escape from a burning house might tremble, weep, or 
groan from fear. 

On the evolutionary hypothesis, it seems easy to understand how the repro* 
duction^ by memory or imagination, of certain feelings might bring about move- 
ments like those excited by the original feelings. Professor James would have us 
believe that this reproduction is always, in itself, indifferent, that is, merely intel- 
lectual ; but that it is. nevertheless, capable of setting up the movements which, in 
the case of peripheral stimuli, are the results of pleasure and pain, and that the con- 
sciousness of these movements is, in such cases, the sole cause of the emotional con- 
dition. Such a reversal of relations seems to me highly improbable. Each one 
must decide for himself which view is more in accordance with the facts of his own 



T/i^ Mttftisf, Vol. I, No. 3, contains a controversy belween Prof. Ernst Mach 
and myself on some questions of psychophysics in which Professor Mach, having 
reference to an editorial article on " Feeling and Motion," regards sensations as the 
*' elements of reality," ''while motion/' he says, " is a mere mental auxiliary, an 



artificial expedient." " Physicists/' we are told, " have accustomed us to regard the 
motions of atoms as more real than the green of trees. In the btler I see a (aeo* 
sory) fact, in the former a Gtri/otti'trttJirtg, a thing of thought," 

In contradistinction to Professor Mach I maintained that our scientific terms, 
although abstract concepts and things of thought, or noumena, are after all descrip- 
tive of actual facts ; they are symbM>l9 representing featnres of reality. Motions, 
L e,, that which is meant by the term motion, is a reality, and what the chemist 
calls atoms is a definite quality of certain facts of experience. Atoms are not things 
in themselves, as the name seems to suggest, but rather proportional relations con- 
veniently so expressed as if they were ultimate units or concrete little bodies of a 
definite mass or weight. What atoms are, aside from representing the proportions 
in which elements combine, we do not know We may define " atom " as the mini- 
mal weight in which an element enters into chemical combinations, but such atoms 
have never been an object of observation. For aught we know, they may as little 
be discrete bodies as a curve consists of discrete straight linta, which, as such, 
would be unobservable only because infinitesimalfy small. The infinitely small 
straight line into which a curve is analysed by mathematicians is a fiction, wisely 
devised for calculating the path of the curve. This fiction is as Professor Mach 
says, an artifice only, not a reality, or as I say, an allegoric expression to characterise 
not whole concrete realities, but certain features of reality in their abstractness. 

Scientific terms are comparable to myths that contain deep religious truths 
The fiction of the myth is only the vehicle of its meaning. The naked meaning in 
its abstract purity may be difficult to grasp. Thus our imagination steps in and 
completes the picture so as to render it concrete and easily thinkable. 

Now, when several months ago I met Professor Mach at Prague, our conversa- 
tion naturally touched upon the problems which had formed the subject of our dis- 
cussion. Professor Mach assented to my speaking of scientific terms as abstracts. 
That, accordingly, must be considered as the point of agreement. But when I pro- 
posed that the term sensation also was according to my terminology an abstract term 
representing one feature of reality only and excluding other features, Professor 
Mach took exception to it, saying that he understands by sensation reality itself. 
Very well then, this is the difference ; and this difference is after all a difference of 
terms only. T understand by sensation the psychical feature of the data of expe- 
rience only, to the exclusion of what may be called its physical aspect. Sensation 
accordingly, as I use the term, is not the whole of the given reality but only one of 
its qualities. It as Professor Mach uses the term, sensation is another name for 
reality, the main difference between our views appears to be removed. 

P. Cahus. 


VoKi-ESUNGEN Ober DIE Menschen- tnd Thierseele, By tVUMm IVuHJf, Zweite 
mngearbeitete Auilage. Hamburg and Leipsic : Leopold Voss, rSga. 

The Tiew edit ion of Wundt's A/ensf/wM- tttui Ihierseeie is one of the best ex- 
isting general iotroductions to psychology. It preserves nearly the just mean be- 
tween the purely introspective and abstract treatment and the substitution of phys- 
iology for psychology with which recent treatises hav-e familiarised us. The author 
has compleiely rewritten the edition of 1S63, which he regards as a youthful indis- 
cretion (Jugindsknde) — retaining only such chapters as could be brought into har- 
mony with his maturer views and with the developed science of psycho-physics that 
has taken the place of the ZukunftsprK^griimm of thirty years ago. He has wisely 
omitted all the superficial and diffuse chapters on comparative psychology and eth- 
nology which cumbered the original work ; has silently ignored the fantastic specu- 
lations as to the identity of electricity and ner\'e-force (one of the worst of the afore- 
said youthful sins) ; and practically abandoned (perhajjs as too esoteric for popular 
exposition) the elaborate reduction of sensations and perceptions to unconscious 
judgments and inferences. 

The first thirteen or fourteen chapters offer a very clrar and interesting resum^ 
of the chief dtx^trines of the Phyjittiogisthf Psyih\*hgu in regard to sensations gen- 
erally, their measurements and qualities, Weber's and Fechner's laws, the special 
sensations of color, bearing, and the muscular sense, and the problem of space per- 
ception. Following the plan of the original work in these chapters, the author aims 
less at completeness of statement than to present clearly the distinctive doctrines of 
modern psychology. In the treatment of certain themes, e. g. Fechner's law. and 
the perception of space, he neglects, for the sake of clearness, qualifications of detail 
which the special student must look for in the larger work. The last sixteen chap- 
ters deal with the feelings, the will, consciousness, attention, association and ap- 
perception, conception, abnormal and animal psychology and instinct, concluding 
with two notable lectures on the " Freedom of the Will" and the *' Immortality of 
the Soul." It is to these chapters that we must look for Wundt's general psycho- 
logical and philosophical system. Profiting by recent criticisms he has here set 
forth his characteristic doctrines in so clear and definite a final statement that fur- 



I her misconception of them is hardly permissible. The remainder of this notice 
will be devoted to what is perhaps the most interesting quesiion thus suggested : 
Wundt's relation to the associationist psychology of Spencer on the one side, and to 
the younger German school of experimental psychologists on the other, Wundt 
ignores the Spenceriao form of the associationist psychology^ and the young psy- 
chologists do injustice to Wundt, neither side apparently condescending to read with 
attention the writings of the other. The debate^ so far as it is not merely verbal, 
springs from two real differences of method : ( 1) Wundt in his psychological analysis 
habitually tal«es account of the problems of the theory of knowledge (Erkenntniss- 
Iheorii'), or ultimate metaphysics, which the young psychclogiats endeavor (not always 
with success) systematically to exclude, (2) Wundt, gifted with superior powers ol 
introspection, is more aware than the young psychologists of the infinite complexity 
and subtlety o£ mental states. He prefers, therefore, to a schematic simplificatioD 
of the phenomena a terminology and descriptive analysis that reflect in some meas- 
are their manifold diversity. And thus while Wundt finds the pure associationist 
psychology barren and tautologous, the young psychalogisls see in Wundt s compli- 
cated terminology only a shamfaced reversion to the discarded psychology of a sub- 
stantial soul endowed with autonomous ''faculties.'* But the analysis of o«r mental 
states which Wundt gives by means of this terminology is really only a subtler re- 
statement of the analysis of Mill, Spencer, and Taioe, to which the new psychology 
has not been able to add anything of moment. It is true that he proclaims the in- 
adequacy of association, even when translated into the diagrams of a hypothetical 
cerebral anatomy, to " explain" fully our conscious active mental life. But in this 
he is at one with Spencer (ultimate scientific ideas), ]. S. Mill (Examination of Ham- 
ilton), and Schopenhauer (Epiphih^sophu'J, It is gross injustice to stigmatise as an 
abandonment of the scientific attitude of mind this occasional passing recognition of 
the seeming ultimate iuexplicability of things. In no single concrete instance can 
it be shown that Wundt now sacrifices the recognised methods and postulates of 
modern scientific investigation to the psychological hypostisa lions which his oppo- 
nents detect in his terminology. 

In confirmation of these statements 1 will give a brief summary of Wundt's 
doctrine of association and apperception with an occasional indication of its relation 
to the psychology of Spencer. W^undt distinguishes the totality of mental states 
which are perceived from the presentation at the focus of consciousne-ss which is 
apperceived. In this way (substituting everywhere dnnkei benuussi for unbrwnssf) 
he avoids the metaphysics of the unconscious, while getting the l>enefit of the entire 
analysis of its advocates. I do not think the ultimate difiiculty can be evaded in this 
way. but will not stop to argue the point. A further advantage of this distinction 
is that it makes possible a dynamic treatment of mental states as *' events" in place 
of the crude psychology that deals with the conditions of any mental state as so 
many ready-made parts externally dovetailed into the completed product. The ac- 
tive side of consciousness is taken into account from the outset. The mental state 



at any moment is described by indicating the presentation which is then at the focus 
of consciousness (apperceived) and the accompanying faintly conscious presentations 
that qualify its lone and total effect. The given miental state is *' explained " by 
tracing omt the dynamic readjustments that brought this particular presentation to 
the fcMLUSf and grouped the faintly conscious presentations about it. Now the bring- 
ing of a presentation to the focus of conscious attention is the primitive psychical 
activity^ ihe elementary act of will^* and since Wundt places this at the beginning 
he rejects all evolution of will or instinct from reflex action, and thus, it will be 
said, here at least puts himself in distinct opposition to advanced scientific thought 
Let us distinguish. So far as we are dealing with the developed minds we know, 
Wundt s distinction is merely the expression of an observed psychological fact. Ex* 
ternal volition does go back to internal voluntary attention and this to a focussing 
of consciousness for which apperception is as good a term as another. Such focus- 
sing of the attention is for us now the primary reaction of the "self on its received 
impressions, Out of a given group of presentations I apperceive by preference one 
and you another, because at the time my ''self." my mind, differs from yours. This 
self may be only a convenient short -hand expression for a passive product of ex- 
ternal forces. The feeling of the reaction of the self may be an illusion, and its ac- 
tivity may be merely the mechanical action of a relatively coherent group of presen- 
tations when a new presentation is introduced among them, and the whole process * 
may be explicable in terms of associations. But the feeling exists, and Wundt has 
described and analysed it better than any of his critics. 

On the other hand, if the question is of the hypyothetical origin of mind, we are 
at once brought face to face with an ultimate metaphysical problem which the new 
psychology impatiently ignores, which Spencer grudgingly acknowledges, but which 
Wundt and Kantians like Riehl find confronting them at every stage of their anal- 
ysis. Conscious mind cannot conceive of its own origin, and therefore all psycho- 
logical theories of development must postulate in some form the elements of con- 
sciousness and will. Nothing that 1 could add to the dialectics of this question would 
influence those who fetl no difliculiy here. They require a long course of Kantian 
criticism or its equivalent. At any rate it is not fair polemic to class a thinker as 
unscientific merely because he recognises this difficulty and gives it expression in 
his psychology, instead of contemptuausly relegating it to metaphysics. 

After thus laying the foundations in the doctrine of apperception for the psy- 
chology both of cognition and of the will, Wundt proceeds to restate the associa- 
tionist analysts of Mill and Spencer In a more elaborate terminology but in substan- 
tial agreement with Spencer till he reaches the "concept/' when the introduction 
of apperception gives rise to a seeming difl^erence. Spencer distinguishes simul- 
taneous from successive association as carefully as W^indt. What Wundt, after 
Herbart calls "complications," namely the joint reference to one object of a num- 

* Cf, Ward, EmfytUpteMit Britannim, Vol. XX. p. 4^ 



l>er of disparate preset! tations of sense, is clearly described by Spencer (" Prin- 
ciples of Psychology," |§ 315-355): and Wundt's *• assimilations " do not differ 
appreciably from Spencer's *' still less conscious'* processes of "organic classifica- 
tion" (" Principles of Psychology." i^ 320), Into the metaphysics of the ultimate 
relations of contiguity and similarity as laws of association t cannot enter here. 
Similarity wijl always be recognised as ultimate by those who. like Spencer, ap* 
proach the problem first from the psychical side, while a purely materialistic treat- 
ment in terms of nervous currents, snch as we find in James, will endeavor to do 
away altogether with similarity, which simply cannot be expressed in terms of 
nerve-structyre without reasoning m a circle, Wundt retains similarity but en- 
deavors to coGrdinate it with contiguity. The problem is really identical with the 
final question of the relations of "mind" and "Ixjdy/' and cannot be profitably 
discussed apart from that question. 

Coming now to the concept and the judgment, we find Wundt aflirming that 
the different forms of simultaneous and successive association {as he has defined 
them) are not an exhaustive classilicaiioii of mental processes — that ihey do not in* 
elude the concept. Well, he is at liberty to define his own terms, and before we 
accuse him of hypustasising a new faculty to account for the concept, let us scruti- 
nise his meaning. We shall find that he merely repeats, in a subtler terminology of 
his own, the analysis of Berkeley, Mill, Taine, Spencer, and Romanes. These wri- 
ters treat the concept as a complicated associational group held together by the 
word. Now Wundt, while conceding the theoretic admissibility of this form of 
statement, holds that such groups present so many distinct charactenstics that all 
delicacy of psychological discrimination is sacrificed by confounding them under one 
denomination with other associatiooal complexes. He does not^ like Professor James, 
bid introspective psychology "' throw up the sponge" here, but wishes to carry his 
analysis into recesses which the instruments of the associationists are too clumsy to 
explore. In the interests of this analysis he limits the term association to combina- 
tions mediated by a limited Dumber of elements. The (apperceived) concept, on the 
other hand, is the product of the reaction of the total mind. This distinction (what- 
ever we may think of its absolute validity) expresses a finely observed psychological 
truth The disttnciive quality of a concept consists, Wundt says, *' m Hem hegieiten- 
den Beiettss/tt'ift, dtus Jit' t'inzeint Vorst^Huni^ ^inttt /tUj.< nteUvcrtretend^n IWrth tn- 
siite.** This feeling he calls the Bfgriffxf^^fUht, meaning thereby exactly what Pro- 
fessor James means when he says that " the thoughts by which we know that we 
mean the same thing are apt to be very different indeed from each other/* and thai 
"a polyp would be a conceptual I h inker if a feeling of ' Hollo \ thingumbob again \ ' 
ever flitted through its mind.*' Only, instead of " throwing up the sponge/' Wundt 
goes on to give a very interesting account of this feeling in its various degrees of 
clearness between the conceptual polyp and the conceiving man. Apperception is 
invoked only to name and emphasise the feeling of activity of the self that enters 
into the Bep-iffsg^fUhl^ distinguishing it as a reaction of the total consciousness 



from the relatively passive assoclalions of what Romanes would call *'recepts/' 
PsychologistSp however, will continue their fruitless debates on questions of termin- 
ology and will still imagine that Wundl is a belated reactionist, Paul Shorev, 

BeitrXge zur KXPERiMENTELLEN PsvcHOLOGtE, By Hugo Mtiusierh^g, Heft 4, 
Freiburg i. B. 1892. 

MQasterberg's fourth i/efi begins with studies in association. If /i and /' have 
been independently associated with m, can a call up /' without the api^earance in 
consciousness of m ? The affirmative answer of common experience was confirmed 
by Scripture's experiments. Associating five Japanese symbols with two series of 
five German words, he found that a word of one series tended (without conscious 
recollection of the Japanese symbol) to revive the particular word in the other series 
that had been associated with the same symbol. M linsterberg. after repeating and 
varying the experiment in a number of fields, denies that any such relation can be 
observed. He may ver)^ well be right on the question of facts. It is ^ priori im- 
probable that a transitory and arbitrary association of a meaningless symbol could 
modify appreciably the independent and accidental associative attractions of famil- 
iar words and presentations. The philosophic interpretation is another question 
For our real knowledge it is a matter of indiHerence whether we fill out ^'missing 
links" with *^ dunkt'l bnvHsst,'^ ^^ un/'t'tvuss/^*' or "cerebral processes that have no 
psychical correlates." And yet how much of contemporary psychologising is a log- 
omachy raging around just this question. 

Mlinsterberg's second series of experiments show clearly the part played by such 
missing links in perception. A word is called out just before a complicated picture 
is exhibited to the subject. He will usually perceive first in the picture some object 
naturally associated with the word, even though the word has aroused no conscious 

Similarly (IH) a hastily seen misprinted word wdl be interpreted variously ac- 
cording to the associations of another word called out to the subject in advance. 

Another series of experiments has for result that even the most commonly as- 
sociated word-couples, as table and chair, have no fixed, unconditional associative 
attraction for each other in the same or in different minds, but that the unit of at- 
traction is the "associative constellation.'* This is only common sense, and artificial 
experiments will never reveal anything in this field that we cannot learn quite as 
well in the class room. 'Table" will suggest " logarithm" if the boy is fresh from 
the class in trigonometry. 

"The difference between men is in their principle of association " said Emerson 
long ago. Miinsterberg, who has in his archives records of fifty thousand experi- 
ments in verbal associations, presents a table of the comparative frequency with 
which substantives are associated with superior (more general) or inferior class 
names, with adjectives or with verbs to which they stand in the relation of subject 
or of object. His chief result is that minds which associate a noun with its higher 



class name (Uibirordmr) think of it as the subject of a verb and do not associate it 
with an adjective. The Unferordnfr ihtoks of the noun as object of a verb and as- 
sociates it with an adjective. The adjective, then, is not the higher class to which 
the substantive beh:>ngs, but a limitation of the substantive. The French, if they 
please, may use this conclusion to refute Spencer's contention that "white horse" 
is a more natural order than %hr7>al bhm. 

The fjrst topic in "memory studies" is the persistence in the psycho-physical 
mechanism of the disposition to an acquired automatic moA^eraentt even after the 
memory of the nerve has been seemingly displaced by the habit of its contrary. The 
experiments were trivial, such as shifting the position of an inkstand from right to 
left in alternate months, or wearing a watch alternately in the right or left fob. The 
resultp a progressive diminution of the mistakes made after every change, may plaus- 
ibly be explained by the stimulated attention and consequent care of the experi- 
menter. The second topic treats of the effect of a lime interval on the exactness of 
our memory of sensations of movement 10 eyes and limbs. The section on " chain 
reactions" is a methodological study of the various applications of this experimeutal 
method. *' The influence of nervous stimulants on psychic activities '* t$ rather in- 
teresting reading, but yields no important results. Alcohol depresses, tea and coffee 
heighten the powers of memory and perception for an hour or two after absorption* 
But the harmful effect of the alcohol sometimes passes away after the first hour 
Grdisensihiitzuft}; is a study of our estimates of distances on a surface, made by pass- 
ing the hand over it at arm's length, at half arm's length, etc. From experiments 
as to the estimate of absolute tone-distances (as distinguished from musical intervals) 
Miinsterberg concludes that pure raeasureraents are not possible with three tones 
only. Experiments with four tones do not, he says, confirm the law that distances 
corresponding to equal differences of vibration are felt as equal. 

Physiologists have assumed that the symmetrical movement of the limbs as in 
swimming or rowing is the natural one ; and the alternating or independent move- 
ments, as in walking or writing, are an acquisition involving inhibitions of the nat- 
ural innervations. "Even in aduH life," says Professor James, "there is an in- 
stinctive tendency to revert to the bilateral movements of childhood." FYofessor 
M^nsterberg was led to doubt this view by observing the unsymmetrical motions of 
a baby in a warm bath, and experiment has confirmed his scepticism. Compli- 
cated joint motions of both hands (tracing circles or other geometrical figures on a 
surface) do not exhibit any tendency, when the attention is distracted, to assume 
the symmetrical form. They rather tend to compensate each other in such a way 
as to preserve equilibrium with the minimum strain on the other muscles of the 
body, and this taw leads as often to alternating as to symmetrical movements of the 
arms or legs. The case is different of course with the muscles of the trunk, and may 
be different in birds, as it would in us if we spent our lives in swimming or rowing. 

A new method of attacking the problem of localisation is to observe the effect of 
altering the circulation in different parts of the brain Tentative experiments on 



one subject seem to show that verbal associations are readiest when the victim lies 
on his left side, which is a happy coincidence with the localisation of the speech 
centres in the left frontal convolutions. If these statistics can be trusted, it is in- 
advisable to undertake hard mental labor with the head hanging back over the edge 
of a chair t 

In the last chapter, certain simple experiments in onr estimates of voluntary 
movements in varying conditions of mind and body are made the basis of a far- 
reaching theory of pleasure, pain, and judgment, the elements of which can be found 
in Aristotle, Herbert Spencer, and James, Munsterberg found by repeated experi- 
ments that the accuracy of attempted reproduction of a fixed and familiar amount 
of centripetal or centrifugal movement of finger and thumb along a rod perpendic- 
lar to his waistcoat varied with his condition of fatigue, pleasure, or pain. In a 
pleasurable state of consciousness the centrifugal movement was exaggerated while 
the centripetal fell short. In pain the reverse relation obtained. Hence he infers 
a connection between pain and muscular flexion and pleasure and muscular exten- 
sion, or rather, he distinguishes the mere sensation of pain fSthfiurzJ and pleasure 
(Lust) which may depend on integrations and disintegrations in the nerve-tissue, 
from the accompanying feelings of agreeableness (IVoUutt} or disagreeableness 
fUnlmfJ which are due to sensations aroused at the centres by movements of flexion 
and extension throughout the body. He thus attaches his special theory of plejisure 
and pain to Lange's and James's theory of the identity of the emotions with their 
bodily concomitants — though he protests against the metaphysical implications of 
the doctrine. The origin of the existing coSrdination of muscular flexions and ex* 
tensions with pleasure and pain, he explains teleologically on the principles of the 
Spencerian psychology of evolution. He then proceeds, after Sig wart and Brentano, 
to revive the old idea of Aristotle {whom he does not mention) that the judgment 
{affirmative or negative) is rather the assumption of an attitude toward a presenta- 
tion {Siellungsuthnnrmii' Aktt) than a mere conjunction of presentations. The af- 
firmative judgment is a faint incipient represented movement of the self towards a 
suggested conjunction of presentations. The negative judgment is a similar move- 
ment in the opposite direction. Ontogenetically these inchoate movements are later 
than the movements of acceptance or rejection called forth by a painful or pleasur- 
able stimulus, and must therefore be treated as derivative phenomena. But the 
Kantians may derive some comfort from MLinsterbergs final assurance that he too 
believes that *^* Erkeftntmssthtontisih das Vrthiil primiir \st.^^ Paul Shorey. 

The Spirit OP Modern Philosophy. V^y Josiah Rtryte, Ph. D. Boston and New 
York: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
We are told by Professor Royce in the preface to this book, that we are in- 
debted for it to the lady friend to whom it is gracefully dedicated, who asked him 
"for some account of the more significant spiritual possessions of a few prominent 
modem thinkers,'* to be related ''in comparatively brief and untechnical fashion." 



The larger portion of the work is taken up with that subject, exhibiting the genera) 
growth of modern philosophical thought beginning with Spioosism, and terminating 
with Monism as the outcome of the doctrine of Evolution. The author*s purpose 
is constructive, however, as well as expository. He has his own philosophical 
creed, suggested by what he knows of the progress and outcome of modern thought, 
and the second portion of the work is the expression of his thoughts on the world- 
conception which he regards as embodying the true spirit of modern philosophy. 
Professor Royce justly lays stress on the fact that the theory of evolution is the 
product of a genuine and continuous growth. He dwells particularly, moreover, 
on the distinction Wtween the f*//V/t*w*»A>^i<^T/ sense of idealism, which "involves a 
theory of the nature of our human knowledge," and its ffuhifi/tjfsiml sense, in which 
it is * • a theory as to the nature of the real world, however we may come to know 
that nature /' It is in accord with the latter sense that Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, 
and their allies, as believing matter to be an expression of the world-spirit, are re- 
ferred to as the idealistic schcxjl , and it is in the metaphysical and not the episte- 
mological sense that the term idealism has been used since Hegel, The opposite of 
a metaphysical idealist is ' ' one who maintains the ultimate existence of wholly un- 
•* spiritual realities at the basis of experience and as the genuine truth of the 
••world — such unspiritual realities for instance as an absolute 'Unknowable/ or, 
'* again, as what Hobbes meant by *Body.'" This is not, however, the view of 
the author, who thinks the metaphysical idealist alone is in possession of a 
successful solution for the episteraological problem. 

Professor Royce divides modern philosophy into three great periods, of which 
the first was one of pure and simple naturalism. The supernatural had then only a 
secondary interest, and thought was governed by thretr ideas — "that nature is a 
"mechanism, that human reason is competent to grasp the truth of nature, and 
" that, since nature's truth is essentially mathematical, geometry is the model science, 
•'whose precision and necessity philosophy, too, must imitate." During the sec- 
ond period of modern philosophy there was a gradual change of thought objectiv- 
ity. Reason was still the instrument, but it was employed on the mind itself. It 
came to be recognised that if man is part of nature's mechanism, he is a knowing 
mechanism. The age was, however, more than one of self -analysis. Rousseau 
introduced a sentimental tendency from which came ''a revival of passion, of poet- 
ry, and of enthusiasm, whose influence we shall never outgrow/' To it is trace- 
able the French Revolution which overthrew all the mechanical restraints of civ- 
ilisation, and "demonstrated afresh to the world's outer sense the central impor- 
tance of passion in the whole life of humanity,'* 

The period of modern philosophy, which still continues, began with the publi- 
cation of Kant's "Critique of Pure Reason," the essential doctrine of which is that 
man's nature is the real creator of man's world, that visible nature is the expres- 
sion of the human spirit, the inner structure of which is therefore the deepest truth 
for us This idea is *• as old as deeper spiritual faith itself/' and yet it is the very 



soul of all our modem life because it is " the essentially humane view of reality." 
For fifty years Kant's ideas ruled philosophic thought, and then, through the pro- 
gress of science, the doctrine of evolution received formulation ;md confirmation 
and "external nature has once more gained for us an impi:>sing authority which 
makes us in many ways sympathise afresh with the pure naturalism of the seven- 
teenth century/' We are compelled to omit any account of the author's study of 
the philosophies of Spinoza, Locke, and Berkeley, or the philosophic systems of 
Kant and his successors of the German School of Ide«ilists. Nor can we say any- 
thing as to the doctrine of Evolution, which Professor Royce rightly regards as 
having had its rise long before Darwin or Herbert Spencer, Before proceeding to 
state his own views, the author takes a cursory glance at modern empirical monism 
which he affirms to be rather a suggestion than a philosophy. It is not surprising, 
therefore, that he is not content with it although he makes use of its ideas. 

Let us now see what are the " * Suggestions '* which Professor Royce offers as 
his contribution towards the formation of a world-conception. These occupy the 
last four chapters of the work, which are supplemented by a general summary in 
the appendix to the book. For the sake of conciseness we will make use of this 
summary, according to which there are two phases of idealistic doctrine, the Ana- 
lytic Idealism of Berkeley and the Synthetic Idealism of Kant and his successors. 
The former shows that if the world is to be knowable at all, it must be, in its deepest 
nature, a world of ideas, that is, it exists *' only in so far as beings with minds ac- 
tually kmrw if tt> /v." The objection that nobody can kito^if any reality l>eyond his 
own self, is met by the synthetic phase of idealism which shows us that ** there is 
but oneself in the world, the logos or world-mind. The //w/Vc self knows truth 
beyond its own limitations, just because it is an organic part of the complete Self." 
What are the demands of idealism as thus stated ? They have relation, first, to the 
interpretation of the facts of experience, which must be in terms of the doctrine of 
the worid-mind, and, secondly, to experience itself, on which we depend "for the 
revelation of that truth which, for us finite beings, must remain a fast * outer ' truth, 
just because it is the content of other mind than our own bits of selfhood, and is 
universally true for all intelligences/* The philosophy of experience having to do 
with facts and with the interpretation of facts, it is necessary to distinguish between 
what is really "outer" and what is '* inner" about our finite experience. The 
former embraces the world of facls^ and a fact is something which must be describe 
able in some sort of universal terms. The principle of ordinary realism, " that you 
must not be sentimental or otherwise emotional in your account of the truth of 
things, but rather t\xtift in vtmr ./tscri/'/ii'tts t*f what t/tini^s arc/' has a thoroughly 
idealistic justification. Not appreciation, but description gives us outer truth, and 
this is the characteristic presupposition of all natural science, which is concerned 
with the universal aspects of things, as opposed to momentary and transient aspects. 
That presupposition involves the assumption that the world is esseniiaify tUsrtilmhie. 
But as only the well-knit, the orderly, that which conforms to law, can be described 



science assumes the universality and rigidity of the laws of nature. It assumes 
further, since the most exact descriptions are possible on5y in the case of processes 
in Space and Time, of a mechanical type, that everything including man himself, 
is a part of nature's mechauism. A closer analysis, however, shows that, as one 
can only describe what has been first appreciated, there must be universal types of 
appreciation, and therefore, that ''Ideals must be deeper than Mechanism, so that, 
in order to be relatively describabld nature must embody purposes, and so be pos- 
sessed of worth/' The author's conclusion is that the natural order is also a moral 
order, and that therefore *' the world of absolute self must appear to us as having 
" two aspects, one a temporal, the other an eternal aspect, one of law and one of 
"worth. Man then turns out to beat once a part of nature's mechanism, and a 
"part of the moral order ; at once temporally determined and morally free.** 

The iioal lecture presents the authnr's views as to the solution of the problem 
of evil. Professor Royce believes that all evil is part of a good order, and hence he 
agrees with Hegel, who declared that life, however good, will always be restless, 
longing, suffering, and who gloried in the paradox as the very essence of spirit- 
uality : rather than with Schqpenhauer, whose recognition, in another light, of the 
universality of ibe same truth led him to abandon all hope *n life. The justification 
of the existence of an evil impulse comes just at the instant when it is hated and 
condemned. Thus 'condemning and conquering the evil wilJ, makes tt part of a 
good will": as pain and suffering have their compensation in their chastening 
effect on the spirit. But to the enlightened soul it is not so much the painfnlness 
as "the blind irrationality of fortune that seems to drive God out of our thoughts 
when we look at our world/' It is the capriciousness of life, arising from human 
stupidity, that really make^ it seem like an evil dream. What is the explanation ol 
this caprice given by the author? It is to be found in the creed erf his idealism, 
" This world is the world of the Logos/' It is " the suffering God. who is just our 
own true self, who actually and in our flesh bears the sins of the world, and whose 
natural body is pierced by the capricious wounds that hateful fools inflict ujKjn 
him/' And as our defeats are his, so his triumph and his eternal peace are ours also. 

Prof. Royce in making "only one more effort to define a ' double- aspect ' 
theory of the relations of the physical and the moral and aesthetic worlds." affirms 
that our philosophic insight teaches us that the world of matter in motion is simply 
an externa! aspect of the appreciable world, that is, of the world of the Logos. 
Of this, it is such an aspect " as can be expressed by finite consciousness in terms 
of the space and time forms, and of the categories of empirical science. . . Con* 
sequently all its laws, all its necessity, its causation^ its uniformity, belong, not to 
its inner nature as such, but to the external show of this nature" That which 
actually appears to us is m fitter in motion, which furnishes the fact of the double 
aspect, the inner intelligibility of which fact is problematical to us, but not so for 
the Logos, who is our true Self, and who '* completes the insight that for us is so 
fragmentary." This true Self, the Logos, is the only Self, and with it the deeper 



THE >[oxisr. 

self of man b identical, That this deeper self is " the self that knows in unity fill 
truth." is decUrcd to be no hypothesis, and therefore the existence of the Infinite 
Self is perfectly sure. This Self " infinitely and reflectively transcends our con- 
sciousness, and therefore, since it includes ns, it it* at the very least a person, and 
more definitely conscious than we are ; for what it possesses is self-reflecting knowl- 
edge." Finally, the true world, that is the world of appreciation, is the system of 
the thoughts of the Logos, whose unity we know just so far as we oiirselvt:s con- 
sciously and rationally enter into it and form part of it. Therefore " in so far as we 
have inner unity of thinking, in so far as we commnne with our fellows, and in so 
far as we rightly see significance in the outer universe, we are in and of the world 
of appreciation that embodies the thought of the Logos/' 

Ingenious as this theory is, and notwithstanding the elements of truth it pos- 
sesses, we cannot accept it as conclusive. Its weakness is revealed in the last line 
of the paragraph just quoted. If only the world of appreciation embodies the 
thought of the Logos, what becomes of the world of fact ? The latter is said to be 
the outer aspect of the former, a notion which is apparently derived from the asso- 
ciation with man of body and mind. But the existence of mind, \vhich we must 
understand by the term Logos, in nature, although declared by Professor Royce lo 
be the only thing certain, is a mere inference, and even if the analogy of the hu- 
man organism justifies such an inference; it would require that if priority has to be 
given to mind or matter in the universe it must be allowed to the latter. At birth 
a human beiup; has no mind, properly so-called, since it is the result of the activity 
after birth of the organism, through the agency of the brain. It is true that the 
human body possesses from the first the elements of the mind^ or rather of the 
feeling which thus exhibits itself; or, better still, the organic structure of which 
feeling is the general function. The utmost that c^u be properly asserted of the 
universe, therefore, is that it possesses a certain organic arrangement of its parts, 
and therewith such a condition of feeling, or, what in this relation would be a better 
term, sensitiveness, as is required by its organic character- In relation to such a 
state of things the terms thought, consciousness, reflection, have no meaning so far 
as we can judge. That organic aspect of the universe, moreover, leaves no room 
for duality. Just as the human organism constitutes a perfect unity, although it is 
made up of various organs and exhibits the properties attributed to both mind and 
matter, so must the universe be such a perfect unity whatever its nature and attri- 
butes. The human organism may, however, be strictly described as matter under 
organic conditions, a description which is equally applicable lo the universe, with- 
out determining what those conditions are. Professor Royce objects to the Un- 
knowable of Herbert Spencer, but there is very little practical difference between 
it and his own true Self, which, as the Absolute, is unknowable, although he is known 
in the inner self of man, as Spencer's Unknowable is known in the human con- 
sciousness. Both Absolute and Unknowable are, however, merely names for Or* 
ganic Nature, which is seen in all things visible and is known by all her operations. 



These are goveroed by the laws of her very existence, and U is the uniformity of 
which those laws are the expression which constitutes the moral law of the uni- 
verse, the breach of whose eternal order, whether this is established in the world of 
matter or in the human mind, must be attended with consequences that are desig- 
nated by man as evil, We find only a world of description, which is nevertheless 
one of moral order. 

Widely as we disagree on the grounjds stated with the conclusions of Professor 
Royce's work, it is undoybtedly a valuable contribution to the discussion of the 
world-problem, Its description of the characteristics of the philosophy of Kant and 
of the German idealists is clear, though not intended to do more thrln exhibit the 
spirit of their teaching, and it is written in a style which renders it easy reading. 
It is a pity, therefore, that it is disfigured with such colloquialisms as j't'//V/, isn't,, 
fiifi^fy t/o/tUt words which neither sound well, nor look well in print. Q. 

Die Ajiistotbusche Auffassung vom VkrhXltnissh Gottes zur Welt und run 
Ms!*{scHEN By Dr. Eugfn Holf^s. Berlin : Mayer k Miiller. 1892. 
This book ts a scholastic "survival," The author believes that Zeller's inter- 
pretation of Aristotle is wrong, and in five formal theses he endeavors to prove 
stcnndum aritm that the philosopher was a theist who taught the creation of ihe 
w*orld from nothing, and the immortality of the souK In the defence of his theses 
be manifests some ingenuity and industry, but no criticism. The work lias no scieo- 
lific significance. P s. 

Max Stirner unu Friedrich Nietzsche. Erschdnungen des modernen Geistes 
und das Wesen des Menschen. By Kvhirt Sfheihmen, Leipsic: C, E. M. 
Pfeffer. iSq2. Price 2 m 60 pf. 
Individualism is the spirit of the age, and among all the champions of individ- 
ualism the most original, the most consistent, the boldest, are jserhaps Max Stirner 
and Friedrich Nietzsche Robert SchelKvien. in sketching their views in great out- 
lines, parity admires these courageous thinkers who dare to draw the consequences 
of their principles to the very last even though they will appear absurd to the 
w*orld, partly censures the rashness with which they arrive at, and the suj^er- 
ciliousness with which they sometimes state, their opinions. Upon the whole the 
author succeeds in impressing the reader that there is in these two peculiar geni 
uses a gigantic strength, and that their views of truth, morality, and justice 
deserve a greater attention than they have received. The reviewer is no admirer 
of either Stirner or Nietzsche ; he believes nevertheless that a careful analysis ot 
their erratic minds and lives will be very instructive. It will be first of pathological 
and then even of more than pathological interest. The actual objective value of 
the ideals truth, morality, and justice, will be best illustrated by showing all the con- 
sequences of a consistent individualism. We hope that this pamphlet will grow 
into a more comprehensive work ; and in that case we should advise the author to 
add short biographies of his heroes. k/h*. 



The Sources and Development of Kant's Teleologv. By James Ilaydm Tufts 
Chicago: Uoiversity Press. 1892. 
This little tract is an inaugural dissertation presented by Mr. Tufts to the Uni- 
versity of Freiburg for the attainment of the doctorate of philosophy. It is written 
in English. Mr. Tuft's dissertation is wholly historical. He simply seeks to ex- 
pound Kant's true views. In this respect the work bears the marks of much re- 
search and of a thorough exploitation o£ Kant's works. Mr* Tuft's conclnding 
words are that "with every new discovery of science, every advance in the ideals of 
art and of the conduct of life, every development in religious faiths^ comes anew 
the task for philosophy to criticise, and through criticism to make a fresh attempt 
to interpret from the unity of reason the manifold of life." /^it/i^. 

Distinction and the Criticism of Beliefs, By Al/nd Sidg%vi€k , London : Long- 
mans, Green, & Co, 1892. 

This work might be described as an inquiry into the conflict between philosophy 
and common sense, and its central idea as the continuity of nature. What bearing 
this idea has on the inquiry is, shown by the slate ment, that the distinction between 
philosophy and common sense is only one of degree. And yet, regarded as methods, 
or attempts to follow ideals, they may be sharply contrasted. This implies the ex- 
istence of distinctions, and hence arises the question how far distinction is consisteut 
with continuity in nature. The recognition of such a continuity requires the ad- 
mission of the unreality of distinctness, but this fact is not inconsistent with the use 
of rough distinctions, which give rise to what the author terms effective ambiguity. 
Here we have the field of the operation of common sense, which exhibits ilself as 
tact in the use of rough distinctions, while, on the other hand, philosophy may be 
said to be concerned with the continuity which, from a superficial glance, might be 
supposed to stand in opposition to distinction. 

The ultimate result which Mr. Sidgwick has in view is the reconciliation of phi- 
losophy and common sense, although it is incidental to his main purpose, which is 
the discussion oE the best way of dealing with ambiguity, that is. of using rough dis- 
tinctions. The improvement suggested is the substitution of *' reasoned discrimin- 
ation " for "haphazard tact," and it is based on the doctrine that "the validity of 
all distinctions is relative to the purpose for which they are used at the time.** This 
cannot mean that distinction is merely relative, as it is said that there is no distinc- 
tion which is quite safe against being broken down. The implication is that a safe 
distinction is possible, although difficult to find, and consistently with that view, the 
doctrine has the double aim of repressing excessive belief in distinctions which are, 
at least for the moment, invalid, and, on the other hand, of *' enabling us to justify 
for a passing pur|>ose. distinctions which are faulty on the whole." The justifica- 
tion here arises from the use, and not from the distinctions themselves, although it 
is evident there must be some basis for them, or they would be invalid. The ele- 
ment of truth is derived from the continuity of nature, with which philosophy is 



concerned, and hence the improvement m the method of common sense is to be 
effected through its regulation by the method of philosophy. 

The justice of this view may be tested by its consequences, which are stated by 
the author in reviewing the chief incidental aims of his book, as being those which 
have to do with controversy, the faults of language, and the conflict between the 
rival ideals, faith and doubt. " Philosophy," we are told, " is doubt, just as science 
is knowledge/' (a description which like many other things in this book we cannot 
endorse,) and the true centre of philosophical interest in regard to rivai ideals is 
"to harmonise the dispute by seeking how to limit each ideal by its opposite." 
This is the aim of all real philosophy, which recognises that every ideal has sin 
dement of truth. Philosophy is thus explanation, and Mr. Sidgwick avers one of 
tbe great dividing forces in philosophy has always been "the rivalry between two 
oppo^te methods of general explanation — th;it which explains small things by great 
ones, the part by the whole, the many by the one (e, g. all earthly facts as related 
to their one cause and substance) ; and that which explains great things by small 
ones, the whole by its parts, the one by the many (e. g. the system of nature as a 
'concouse of atoms')/* Thus regarded, the distinction between philosophy and 
common sense is simply one of method ; ,^nd it may be said to consist in the use by 
the former of rational doubt based on scientific knowledge, as distinguished from 
the belief founded on popular wisdom which distinguishes the latter. Both alike, 
however, are the fruit of * observation, pushed further, nevertheless, in the one case 
than in the other, which is practic*Tlly the view expressed by the author. 

In considering the nature of philosophy, we have given the gist of Mr. Sidg- 
wick's reflections on controversy, which is treated as the opposition of ideals. This 
conflict is kept alive chiefly by doubt as to how abstract notions should be applied 
in concrete cases, and largely owing to *' the absence of that kind of sharp distinc* 
tion which is applicable, not only to the notions themselves, but to the actual facts 
to which Ihey pretend to refer/' This view is ably enforced, as well as the neces- 
sity of applying to the conflict between ideals the rule laid down as to the purposive 
validity of distinctions. The operation of this rule would be attended with conces- 
sion instead of assumption, there being, however, the admission, which is equivalent 
to an assumption, that neither side of any ideal dispute is devoid of some truth as 
as well as some error. This is really required, if not by the continuity of nature, 
yet by continuity in our interpretation of nature. This is coniinuity in thought, and 
hence arises the difficulties connected with language which it is one of the author's 
incidental aims to point out. He supposes that language acts as a drag on the pro- 
gress of knowledge, owing to the i/umsintss of words arising from the fact that 
" things spoken of are always more full of change and movement than the words we 
can use in speaking of them/' 

Mr. Sidgwick insists upon continuity, yet change itself may be evidence of at 
least partial discontinuity. Our author remarks, in an appendix note on the con- 
tinuity of nature, that every change, as such, is a snltus, however small it may be. 


and that the same is true of any gap between the two extremes of nature and the in- 
termediate region, That such an intermediate region exists, is required by the con- 
tinuity of nature, which again i& evidence of change, on the principle that every chain 
is made up of a series of links. But as in the chain there is no real gap between the 
Jinks, so there is no actual discontinuity consequent on change in nature. The two 
extremes may be regarded as prolongations of the intermediate region^ and the 
changes to which such prolongation is dire may so occur that there may be discon- 
tinuity between certain parts, as between the fibres of \ijiich a hempen rope is made, 
and yet there be a perfectly continuous whole. We have an example of such a dis- 
continuous amtinuitPft in a beam of ordinary light, which presents not the slightest 
gap, and which yet is made up of numberless undulations in diflerent ratios repre- 
senting the six spectrum colors, each of which is, moreover, spread throughout the 
whole of the beam. Here we see thai continuity is quite consistent with distinction. 
The latter may be regarded as discrimination of the various phases of the former, 
and the distinction remains valid or otherwise according to the accuracy of the dis- 
crimination or not. But constant change of distinction is required by progress in 
knowledge which may be regarded as a thought representation, by discontinuous 
steps, of the continuity of nature. 

As to the conflict between faith and doubt, the author considers the function of 
scepticism as the search for grounds of belief, and thus doubt is said to be " rather 
a friend than an enemy to those who remember that there is still some truth, on 
any subjeci, for fallible men to learn," as well as to those who are more interested 
in the discovery of truth than in supporting their own beliefs, 0, 

VoRLESUNGEN Ober Geometrie, imter besonderer Benutzung der Vortrage von 
Alfred Clebsch. By Dr. FerdimiHd LintU^mann. Leipsic : B. G. Teubner. 

This first part of the second volume of Alfred Clebsch's Lectures has been ar- 
ranged and treated by Professor Lindemann in the same way as the first, except 
perhaps that the editor has extended his independent investigations rather further 
than before, owing mainly to the fact that he had in addition to his own notes when 
attending Professor Clebsch's lectures in 1871-1872. only five folio pages of the late 
master's manuscript at his disp(jsaL The present volume is divided into three parts. 
I, The Point, Plane, and Straight Line. 11, Surfaces of the Second Order and of 
the Second CUss. Ill, Fimdamental Conceptions of Projective and Metrical Geom- 
etry. Historical notices and references are added in foot-notes. Considering the 
prominence of the editor as a mathematician, it would he a presumption on our part 
to praise his work. Ayif. 

An Introduction to General Logic. By E. E. Cofts/nptur Jtnies. London : Long- 
mans^ Green, & Co. 1893:. 
This work is another witness of the great interest now being taken in all that 
pertains to the methods of knowledge. 




Miss Jones, the author, is lecturer on logic at Girton College, Cambridge. Dur- 
ing an experience of several years in teaching, certain diflicuUies have very forcibly 
pressed themselves upon her attention. She hopes by her book to aid in remo\*ing 
these difficulties. 

It is certainty a good augury for women when their intellectual representatives 
begin to show the disposition to turn towards the **dry light/' Logic and mathe- 
matics are *' dry " to be sure , that is, they are very apt to bej\ftifn/ dry, very dry, 
by beginners, and always by tho^ who lack that real intellectual robustness which 
is alone fit to meddle with fundamental problems. Hence these sober and severe 
disciplines find little favor among thost! who seek merely for "showy" attainments, 
those to whom whatever is "uninteresting" is intolerable, and those who regard 
obiscurity as inseparable from profundity. When then we find scholarly women 
manifesting a real relish for this " dry light/' it gives promise of a coming day when 
the intellectual appetite will rise above the level of mere entertainment, the level of 
the play-house and the circus, and take kindly, and perhaps zealously, to real edifi- 

Miss Jones makes but very modest claims on behalf of her treatise. She has 
not undertaken to innovate to any great extent upon the regular scheme. If in her 
changes there is that which might especially provoke criticism, it is perhaps in the 
nomenclature which she adopts. The traditional logic forms a S)'stem which has 
its own proper merits and defects. It is of great historical interest, and its regular 
terminology is almost indispensable for the proper illustration of its doctrines. 

We think also that the author fails to state the case in all its ampUtude, when, 
she lays it down as one of the most absolute and ultimate of all logical principles 
that the self-evident ought to be believed. The truth is» as we conceive it, that the 
self-evident is sure to be believed, and that in the face of any proposition that truly 
bears its own justification along with it, any doctrine of logic is either useless or im- 
pertinent, fif^y. 

Hypnotism us UND Suggestion. Dy H\ ll'ttnji Leipsic: Wilhelm Engelmann. 
A Greek student translates tCKtii^^ ' small' ; '* You are thinking of the German 
Jtl^in/' says the teacher quickly. Another renders »}/«fif yfif* n;ioi, ' we are lambs,* 
misled by a chance cross association with the Latin ftg^fti. Every careful self- 
observer knows that there is no combination of memories, images, and resultant in- 
cipient acts tew absurd for some moments of confusion and mental fatigue. We 
account for such confusions of thought by citing parallel cases and adding generally 
that normal associations are liable to disintegration and abnormal recombination in 
fatigued or excited conditions of the brain. If we seek a causal scientific explana- 
tion, two methods are open to us : (1) we may attempt to map out in detail and de- 
scribe for all similar cases the pathways of association, or (2) we may endeavor to 
define their physiological conditions and accompaniments in the nervous system. 



The first leads us at once into the metapliysjcs of the unconscious. The second 
method, when we attempt to pass from a general to a specific correspondence, leads 
to a hypothetical restatement of the observed psychological facts in lermsof the latest 
cerebral anatomy and physiology Now all serious scientific thinkers are fast com* 
ing to the conclusion (on which Wundt's book is based) that the phenomena of 
dreams and of hypnotism are to be explained by the general laws of association as 
revealed especially in the confused and obstructed associations of the normal state. 
The critical and destructive part of Wundt's sensible and timely work has two aims : 
{i) to discriminate the attested phenomena of hypnotism from the alleged phenom- 
ena of thought-transference, telepathy, and "possession * on which no serious 
student will waste his words ; and (2) to point out the confusions of thought in current 
explanations of hypnotic phenomena, which either confine themselves to restate- 
ments of the observed facts in terms of a hypothetical anatomy, or at any rate in 
Wundt's opinion base their physiological hypotheses on an inadequate psychological 
analysis. His own constructive work is an attempt to supply the missing analysis 
and accompany it with the most plausible physiological theory that our imperfect 
science allows. Dreams and the illusions of the hypnotic subject are doubtless ex- 
plicable generally as derangements of the associative machinery. But they are 
specific forms of abnormal association, the special characteristics of which we wish to 
define. Suggestion, Wundt says (with James), is association accompanied by a 
•* limitation of consciousness to the images aroused by the association,'' The scien- 
tific problem is : H^7V tnisteht die Eindugitng tii*s Betousstseitis ? This narrowing of 
consciousness manifests itself in a diminished sensibility to all impressions outside 
of the suggestions. Dreams show the same features, accidental impressions of sense 
or changes in the nutritive processes here taking the place of direct suggestions from 
without. But in sleep and dreams the limitation of consciousness is conditioned by 
general fatigue of the nervous system* In the hypnotic state it results not from 
fatigue, but from neuro-dynamic and vaso-motor changes in the distribution of 
tensions in the brain. Hence the superior intensity and vividness of the presenta- 
tions Lhal are allowed to develop themselves. This altered equilibrium of the forces 
of the brain is brought about by the suggestions of the operator, which are gener- 
ally guided by him to a more or less definite end. The resulting derangements of 
normal associations are consequently less lawless than is the case in dreams. On 
these principles Wundt explains the chief facts of hypnotism as follows : Auto- 
matic obedience to the commands of the operator results simply from the fact that 
every idea lends to realise itself 10 action, is an incipient act ; and in the narrowed 
consciousness of the hypnotic subject the idea suggested by the operator finds no 
competitors in the struggle for existence as a reality. This explanation (which is 
really as old as Spinoza) accounts also for positive hallucinations — there are no re- 
ductors, as Taine would say. Negative hallucinations (the non-existence of an 
existing door) V!i^y be explained sometimes by a contradictory positive hallucination 
(as of a curtain covering the door) more often in the same way as hypnotic analgesia 



by the familiar analogy of our insensibility to the toothache when the attention is 
elsewhere strongly engaged. This is favored by the generally diminished sensibil- 
ity of the hypnotic subject. Posl*hypnotic suggestions are associations depending 
on partial memories, such as we have in the normal state when we mertily recall an 
image or an object without time-and-circumstance localisation. The subject who is 
to execute a post-hypnotic suggestion at 7 o'clock is reminded by the striking of the 
clock of an image of a thing to be done which the original command of the operator 
associated with the stroke of seven. All else is forgotten. When the time limit m 
not thus definitely marked, the process must be analogous to that whereby some 
persons are able to waken at a predetermined hour in the morning. A latent asso- 
ciation is aroustxl into full activity by naturally recurring conditions of internal 
physiological processes or external surroundings. Courtesy or prudence are perhaps 
all that prevent the bciJt explanation of certain extreme cases being the old one : 
*' the boy lied." Wundt rejects the claim that suggestion is the expertmental method 
in psychology pttr txtfiiaH-e, for the very sufficient reason that the phenomena ex- 
perimented with are only very partially in the control of the operator and are 
furthermore mainly pathological He is far from disputing the practical efficacy of 
hypnotic therapeutics in functional disorders, but he regards the hypnotic sleep as 
a dangerous remedy, the employment of which should be limited to trained practi- 
tioners. The subjection of the hypnotic subject to the will of the hypnotiser is a 
priori an immoral relation to obtain t>etvveen man and man unless justified by supe- 
rior medical necessities, but, quite apart from a priori ethics, indiscriminate hyp- 
not isat ion is to be discouraged as a direct cause of nervous degeneration. The book 
closes as it began with a dignified but severe reprobation of those thinkers who in 
the interests of occultism magnify the psychologicai significance of hypnotism and 
disseminate superstition in the name of science. PAtJi. Shore v 

Der Hypnotismus in GEMEiNFASSLtcHEit Darsteli-unc. By Dr, Hitm Schmidkunt. 
Stuttgart: A. Zimmer (E. Mohrmann}, 1892. 

This book (266 pp.) is a popular compendium of hypnotism. The author, be- 
ginning (I) with the hypnosis of common life, goes over the whole field as follows : 
(II) the phenomena of hypnosis, (III) its .ipplication, (IV) ihc "beyond" of hypno- 
tism, (V) the conceptions of hypnotism, and (VI) its dangers. The seventh and last 
chapter is a short history of the subject. 

Dr. Schmidkunz, Decent of philosophy at the University of Munich, is one of 
the few who believe that there is a •* beyond" in hypnotism. He says on p. 65: 
"A hypnotised person was led through a room while slei^ping. The experimenter 
made a few passes over his head and then violently whirled his arm around in a 
vertical direction before his subject. When the subject approached the marked 
place, be recoiled from it crying with pain." Our author asks, *' what is this mag- 
netic wall to be regarded as ? As a charm, as an ob^^tacle of occult power, from 
which the body recoils as from a wall of stone ? If not, was it the subject's soul that 



recoiled ? Was it the hypnotised person's beJief which created the wall ? " etc. The 
two interpretations, the one attributing the effect to a magnetic power, the other to 
suggestion are typical. The former is bolder : he goes '* beyond" hypnotism. 

Our author is one of those who go beyond hypnotism » and is not salislied with 
the theory that suggestion explains alL We may add that he regards telepathy as 
a sufficiently established fact. Telepathy finds little support among scientists in 
Germany. andDr. SchmtdkunE complains, in a circular letter to '* Professor Won dt's 
and other Savants' Critical Sahomortales'' of the cool and depreciative treatment 
which his book PsycMogu- tier Su^gestiittt received at the hands of men of science. 


Paris : Felix Alcan. Pp. 80. 

In a recent number of The Afonist Prof, J, Delboeuf gave the reasons which 
have induced him to come to the conclusion that ''persons in an hypnotic condi- 
tion preserve at least a sufficient portion of their intelligence, thetr reason, together 
with freedom of action, to prevent them from committing deeds that neither their 
conscience nor their habits approve of." This opinion is entertained by many other 
hypnotists, but the more general opinion is that ' • suggestion "' may be made use of 
for criminal purposes. Such is the case especially in France and in Belgium ; and 
acting on that supposition the medical faculty of the latter country promoted in the 
legislative Chamber a law interdicting public hypnotic seances, and reserving the 
practice of hypnotism as a therapeutic measure exclusively to medical men, as well 
as the treatment of insane persons and those under twenty-one years of age. Pro- 
fessor Delbceuf, who is not a medical man, naturally objects when those who but a 
few years ago would have classed hira and his fellow hypnotists as charlatans, seek 
without reason to reserve for themselves the promising field of labor opened up by 
the researches of others. He maintains that men are born hypnotisers as they are 
born artists, and therefore to exclude all but medical men from the application of 
the hypnotic power will often prevent its use for curative purposes. Moreover it is- 
a serious question for those who possess this natural gift They might perform the 
most praiseworthy actions and yet be subjected to a legal penalty. Professor Del- 
ba*uf states that by hypnotism he cured a youth eighteen years of age of a mania for 
stealing (la manie du vol), and thus saved him from unmerited dishonor. On an- 
other occasion he had charge of a young wife who was possessed with the idea of 
murdering her children, and after all other means had failed he was able to remove 
the idea by suggestion extending over a period of eight days. He properly asks 
whether ihe performance of such actions ought to be treated as criminal. 

The real question to be considered, however, is whether the practice of hypno- 
tism is likely to be made use of for criminal purposes if it is permitted to every one. 
We much doubt whether any actual case of such an abuse has been legally estab- 
lished, or whether suggestion could lead to the perpetration of a criminal act unless 




there was a predisposiiioo 10 that direction. Professor Del boBuf makes use, however, 
of an apparent paradox which would seem to render abortive any such law of pre- 
vention as that above referred to. It is that there is in reality no such thing as 
hypnotism. M. Bernhcim writes in a letter given in the present work, *'for my 
part, in the thousands of hypnolisations I have practised, I have never seen the least 
inconvenience result. Undoubtedly very impressionable subjects can, under the 
emotional influence of auto-suggestion, present certain nervous troubles; but these 
a prudent operator can always calm by suggestion/' Professor Delbcr^uf relates 
several cases of this kind within his own experience, which shows that severe nervous 
pain can be removed by simple assertion that it does not exist. He afBrms that 
*' the so-called hypnotic sleep is only a sign of suggestibility, and that it is not at all 
necessary to suggestive therapeutics," 

We may conclude this notice of a very interesting contribution to the discussion 
as to the true nature and operation of hypnotism, by quoting the conclusions ar- 
rived at by the author as to the proper mode of regulating its practice. He suggests 
that representations of hypnotism should be permitted subject to the measures which 
regulate public spectacles ; that any one should be allowed to become a hypnotiser, 
as he can become a shampooer or a truss-makcr ; that the hypnotist who gives reme- 
dies should be punishable, since he exercises the art of curing without a diploma ; 
that he should not be allowed to hypnotise minors without the consent of the family; 
and that he should be forbidden to treat a sick person without the written authori- 
sation of a medical man and under his direction. This rule Professor DeJbceuf, 
although he disapproves of the law which forbids the practice of medicine to those 
who have not a diploma, has always acted on. He thinks that if medical men then 
studied hypnotism and practised it themselves, hypuotisers who had no diplomas 
would soon have nothing to do. This spirited defence by Professor Delboeuf of his 
views will be widely read. Not ihe lea-st interesting portion of it 13 the criticism, 
with which it ends, of *' the affair of the brothers Vandevoir." where we read that 
he is designated by his opponent M, Masoin ** i/otix it hon vmlhni^^ and ** rhommt 

Ueber den Hautsinn. By Dr. pHil. et mfd. Mas Dessoir^ Privatdocenteu an der 
Universitat za Berlin, Separai-Abzug aus Archiv flir Anatomieund Physio- 
logie. Physiologische Abtheilung. 1892. 
This i^amphlet, a reprint from the Arthiv fUr Anafmiir nnd FhyMwhgii of 
i8ga, is an elaborate and careful investigation into the modus f>perandi of skin sen- 
sations. The first part is a discussion of the theory of sensation in general con- 
taining (i) an analysis of the ideas Gf/Uht^ Empfindung^ and WahrnehmuHg, li) a 
critique of Johannes Mailer's doctrine of specific energies, {3) an exposition of the 
objcctifi cation of sensations. P'eeling {EmpfinduHi:), according to the author, is. no 
magnitude, its main feature is intensity, quality becomes important only in sensa* 
tion ( }V%ihnt€hmuHg\. For the psychology of skin-sensations, we have to note the 



great influence of accompanying feelings (Afiiem/tjim^uft^m), The second part ts 
devoted to the author's investigations of the sense of temperature. Dr. Dessoir re- 
jects Blix's point theory ; he regards the idea of two different end -apparatuses for 
warm and cold sensations as an unfounded assumption, and claims that the tem- 
perature sense is one mode of sensation possessing two qualities. The intensity of 
temperature f^ensations depends not only upon the vis vivn of the heat in the 
stimulus, but also upon five other factors (r) the size of the surface affected, (2) the 
duration of the affect, (3) the thickness of the epidermis, (4) its conductibility, and 
(5), last not least, its temperature. Kp^, 

Recherches d'optique phystologtque et physique. By Climeme R^yer, Brussels 
Imprimcrie Veuve Monnom. 1892, 

The first part of this brochure consists chiefly of an examination of the theor- 
ies of M. M. Hirth and Chaveau on chromatic sensation. The talented authoress 
disagrees with the view entertained by M. Chauveau. that the sensations of con- 
trast which are fused cerebrally, so as to give, when viewed with both eyes, a white 
image, are subjective in an intellectual sense. The result is purely physico-phys- 
iological. as it is even assuming the intervention of M. Hirth's intfrior eye. Mad. 
Royer regards the eyes organised so as to effect a fusion of the colors and forms 
depicted on the two retinas, and she accepts the conclusion of M. Hirth, that they 
lessen the real polychromism of objects, the inability to perceive the infra-red and 
the ultra-violet rays concealing from us a considerable part '*of the palette of 
nature and of its chromatic scale.'' The authoress refers with approval to the 
theory of M. Charpentier that the complementary colors correspond to inverse un- 
dulatory phases, which are destroyed by interference in the field of vision. 

The second part of Mad. Royer's pamphlet is devoted to a consideration of the 
photography of colors, and the theory of light. It points out that the photography 
of colors, which has been effected to some extent by M- Lippmann. must be a phys- 
ical and not a chemical process. It is the result of the periodic compressions of 
the sensitised silver-surfacet due to the shocks it receives from the light undula- 
tions of the ether, which so modify the surfaces of the silver atoms that they reflect 
colored rays identical with those received from the object photographed. With 
reference to the propagation of light, the authoress aflirms that the atoms of mat- 
ter, as well as those of the ether, which differs from matter only in being impond- 
erable and without inertia, are centres of emanation of a continuous and inpenetra- 
ble fluid, which is however indefinitely expansible or compressible. The size and 
form of atoms will thus depend on the compressions they receive, and they will be 
able to accommodate themselves to the spaces to which they are confined by the 
resistance of the atomic groups by which they are surrounded. Out the world may 
be regarded as consisting of three sorts of atoms : (i) those of the ether which pos- 
sess their primordial unity of expansive force and are endowed with perfect elas- 
ticity ; (2) those of ponderable matter, which have lost a portion of their expansive 

BOOK iiE\nf:«s. 


feroe and elastkicf; (5) tlioae wbicli are caQed vtufiferons* becaoae the^r have re- 
gained their eipansix^ force, and are thus capable of aqt o nooious ni<wrtimiHi 
oeocssaiy to resist the oompressiOQs ot the ether aad to o ppoae tlie txiertiA ol mat- 
ter. Tbcf thtts aasiver to Ibe cxU-sook of Haeckel. 0, 

DfB BewBGtJjic OCB Lmamttmomn SvBsrAitz, Eiae 

UttteTEOchsag der Coatractsoiiaenciieiimaseii. Bf JKir F #ja i »>it t Dr. 

Mil 19 Abbil- 

Pfiratdoceatder Plifsiolagie an der Uaiveratit Je 
doD^n. Je&a: GoMav Fiadm-. tS^z- 

ceaaiBS rigid inttil it decafi. 


finds Ids theory to bold pood for tbe 

of tbe striated i 



DODSiriated muscles, and also of ciliated tissues. Having shown thai the vital func- 
tions are due to the same forces that are observable in the retort of the chemist, he 
adds : "The savage accordingly was not quite wrong when he drew no distinct line, 
considering everything moving as alive. Life is motion. That old poetical view 
of all nature being animated with life throughout was in possession of a germ of 
truth, and our proud civilisation has actually made a retrogressive step in abandon- 
ing this view." fcyK- 


Vienna and Prague : F. Tempsky, iSga. Price i fl. 60 kr. 

We had occasion in a recent number of ///<• Mt*nhf to review an excellent text- 
book of physics published by this same bouse. The present work on zoology is in 
its second edition, and is intended, like the above-mentioned work of Professor 
Mach'Sr for high-school instruction. Professor Graber, its author, died before the 
completion of the second edition, and the work was finished by J. Mik. 

Graber's Zoology is unique in its class ; it covers, within the restricted limits of 
two hundred and sixty-one pages, the whole field of elementary biology, human phys- 
iology, and zoology, as it is usually exploited in such books, and thus combines in 
a single volume what is usually contained in two or three The human organism 
(Part 1) is made the starting-point of study in the work, and the explication of the 
physiological and mechanical functions of animals are thus all grouped about this 
central figure. In a concise form (55 pages) this l>ook contains aUnit all of human 
anatomy and physiology that is usually learned in high-schools. Part i also con- 
tains, at the end of the discussions, brief dietetic suggestions. " Systematic Zoology ** 
is taken up in the Second Part, This part is well analysed and arranged. The cuts 
are also excellent. Attached to the book is a " Picture-Atlas. " This atlas contains 
a number of colored plates, which depict various physiological and anatomical or- 
gans, and also four beautiful representations of scenes from the Naples Aquarium. 
Although this book will not be used by English school -students, it may be recom- 
mended to students of scientific German who WHsh a good introduction into the 
technical vocabulary of German biology and zoology, which to the foreigner is very 
difficuh. fiKpK, 


L'ANTHROPOLocrB DU Bengale. By Paul To/fiuarJ. Extracted from L*.hif/ire^ 
/t^/ft^^'/V for May- June, [892, Paris: G. Masson, 
The present contribution to the science of Anthroj>ology by ihe Editor of VAn- 
ihropohgU^ is based on the anthropometric inquiries of Mr 11. H. Risley made 
under instructions from the government of Bengal. The conclusions deduced hy 
Dr, Topinard from the large mass of material brought together by Mr. Kisley, and 
which relates to membeis of all I he castes to be met with in Bengal, are of great 
interest. He finds that the populations are much mi.ved, but that they may be divided 
into three types, one tall and dolichocephalic, that of the Aryans ; another short and 



brachycephalic, derived from northern Asiatics ; and the third short and dolicho- 
cephalic, or Chat of the native blacks. India is a world by itself, and most of its 
inhabitants belong to races of which there is no specimen in Europe. Dr. Topinard 
naturally attaches more importance to physical than to ethnographical characters 
as evidence of anthropological descent, and he is justified by Mr. Eisley's researches, 
of which he speaks very highly ; although he thinks they would have been more 
fruitful if the anlhropometrical instructions prepared by the French Anthrotx>logist 
had been more strictly adhered to. That they were not so is the more surprising as 
Mr. Risley's work is dedicated to Dr. Topinard himself. Q, 

Ubber siTTLFCHE DisposiTioNEN. By l>r, Atttfm Oeheli'Xrtvin, Privaldoceiit an 
der Universitat in Bern, Grax: Leuschner & Lubensky, 1892. Price Mk. 2 
70 Pf 
The main idea of this book is to prove Lhat there are certain innate disposi- 
ticDs forming the eiements of morality. The elements of morality are according 
to Dr. Oelzelt-Newio the attitudes of fear, anger, love, sympathy, shame, and pride. 
Conscience is a complex which has developed from these six dispositions. Having 
stated sufficient evidences for the heredity of moral dispositions and illustrated 
the parallel phenomena of bodily states in their reference to moral alienation, the 
author treats the six elements of morality in single chapters, explaintog their causes 
and the influence of conditions under which they develop either into virtues or 
crimes. The essay (92 pp.) is a contribution to that ethical determinism which re- 
gards evil as the necessary result of given factors. * 'Religious people should say : 
Not only the stone which falls from the roof and kills a just man, but also the will 
of a criminal and the punishment of the judge are inscrutable ordinances of God. 
That alone is a true theodicy.*' As an optimist the author trusts that the evil 
of the world will be conquered with legal means and enjoins priests to revise in 
this sense their creed, jurists their law, and all men their love of mankind. ^fH"- 

The Beauties of Nature, And the Wonders of the World We live in. By Sir 
John LHl*h&ck. New York : Macmillan & Co. 1S92, 439 pages. Price ft. 50, 
Natur unp Kunst Studien zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der Kunst. By Cams 
SUrne. Berlin : Verein filr deutsche Literatur. 1892. 
The first of these two books is a delightful compilation by Sir John Lubbock. 
It is another addition to that series of popular works which this well -known nat- 
uralist is now giving to English-speaking peoples It makes no pretension of being 
scientific : it simply takes the world which science has revealed and shows us its 
wonders and its beauties. Yet it insinuates many a scientitic fact and inculcates 
many a moral lesson. No one will regret the few hours tbat can tie spent in its 
perusal, and the stimulus derived from it will heighten the pleasure which every 
religiously-minded heart takes in the contemplation of natural grandeur and truth. 
In the main, it is intended for unscientific readers. It requires hardly any prepara- 



tory knowledge to be uoderstcx>d ; yet it sometimes touches on a truth Ihat even 
great thinkers overlook. Thus, it propt*s of the capacity for intact divisibility which 
&onie life- forms possess, Sir John remarks that these considerations introduce "much 
difficulty into our conception of the idea of an Individual/* *' In fact" he says, 
" ' the realisation of the idea of an individual gradually becomes more and more dif- 
ficult, and the continuity of existence, even among the highest animals, gradually 
forces itself upon us. I believe that as we become more rational, as we realise more 
fully the conditions of existence, this consideration is likely to have important moral 
results. ' The work is divided into the following chapters : '* Animal Life," " Plant 
Life," '* Woods and Fields," ''Mountains.*' "Water,*' ' Rivers and Lakes," "The 
Sea, " ' ■ The Starry Heavens. " 

The second of the two books that head this review is by Carus Sterne. Few 
men possess the wide technical knowledge and the same command of the historical 
literature of his subject^ that this investigator and writer possesses. Carus Sterne 
unites with a rigorous scientific training the rare qualities of philosophical insight 
and sound erudition. He possesses the scientiBc facts on which to base valid judg- 
ments, and he deduces from these facts the inferences that affect the most impcirtant 
problems of life — its culture and morality. We have had occasion before, to refer 
to these phases of Cams Sterne's activity as an author. 

In the present work the author of IV^rJfn unJ Verg^hett discusses the relations 
which obtain between nature and art. Here is not the place to give even a synopsis 
of the great wealth of material which this book of 395 pages contains ; we are al* 
lowed simply to hint at its purport and methods. Cams Sterne defines the artistic 
impulse in man to be a longing of the mind to rise above the ordinary routine of 
physical existence. It is a lifting ourselves out of our every-day life. This cannot be 
accomplished by the simple reproduction of the things of nature ; such reproductions 
have not in themselves an elevating effect. Art is not iniitative, art is creative. It 
uses color, form, space, merely as a means to give "local habitation" to an idea. 
The imitation of actually existing things is the beginning of art ; but it is its lowest 
stage. Nature must be our guide^ our norm, not our model Here the middle road 
is taken between the old and the new idea of art. That was ultra-idealistic, this is 
ultra-realistic. The author then proceeds to discuss the notion of beauty in art and 
nature (Part 1} and finally takes up generally (Part U) the subject of the artistic 
contemplation and reproduction of the world. All these topics* with their many 
subdivisions, are treated in Carus Sterne's best and most fascinating style. The work 
is well illustrated, and all interested in the natural history of art will find in it a 
store-house of valuable material. ^ , uKpK. 



CONTENTS : VoK IV. No. 3. 

E[NE NBUE Theorie DER LicHTEMPFiNDUNGEN. By ChrhHnf La dd- Franklin. 
LiTTERATtiRBERicHT. {Hamburg and Leipsic : Leopold Voss.) 
Mrs. Christine Ladd Franklin (a cuntributor to this number of T/m Manist) is 
one of those few women who have actually won a well deserved reputation as a 
thinker and scientific worker. She is an American by birth and the wife of an Amer- 
ican savant. It is pleasant to find her name in a German periodical among whose 
editorial writers are men so prominent as Ebbinghaus. K5nig. Exner^ HelmhoUz, 
Hering, Kries, Lipps, G. E. Miiller, Pelman, Preyer. and Stumpf. Mrs. Ladd 
criticises Helmholtz and Hering. and thinks that the theories of Donders (in Grafe's 
•*Archiv/' 1884) and Goiler (in Du Bois-keymond's " Archiv/* 18S8) have not re- 
ceived sufficient attention. In accord with their propositions, she sets forth an ex- 
ceedingly simple hypothesis which attempts an explanation of the three main colors 
by atomic motions in the three different dimensions of space. 


CONTENTS : Vol. XXVIIL Nos 9 and 10. 


Studie. (Concluded) By M. Ofner. 


Stumpf's ** Ton PSYCHOLOGIE,'* Band IL By 7'/f, Lipps, 
Werke zur Philosopiiie der Geschicute UNO DK5 sociALEN Lebens (Third 
Article : J. S. Maikmzie^ An Introduction to Social Philosophy ; /. //. fVr- 
^um. The Philosophy of Civilisation ; /F. A. A/acJint.ilJ, Humanitism). By 
F, 7 on Hi' ITS, 

CONTENTS : Vol. XXLX. No. t and 2, 


By A'. Lasstviti. 
Die sittucre Frage eine socialb Fragb (I). By F, Sittmdngtr. 
RELIG1ONSPHU.0&OPHISCHB Thesen, By E, von HartMiinn.' 
LtTTERATURBEBic«T. (Berlin: Dr. R. Salinger.) 



SCHE KRITIK. Vol. lor. No, i. 

PsYCHOLOGiscHE APHORisMEN. By Olio LtehftMnn. 

UntkrH/vlb UND OBERHALH VON GUT UND b5se. By Eduard x*en ffartmann, 
Jahresbericht Ober Erscheinungen dbr anglo-amerikanischkn Litteratur 

AUs DER Zeit von 1890-1891. By Frudriih JodL 
ZuR BegkOssung des zwetten Hundbrts der Bande dikser ZEiTSCHRirr By 

Prof. Df\ Nttd. Scydf/. 
Recensionen. (Leipsic : C. E. M PfefEer.) 

1892. Vol. V. No. I. 

Disturbance of the Attention During Simple Mental Processes. By 

Edgiif J amis Swift, 
Pseui>0'Chromesthesia. or the Association of Colors with Words, Let- 
ters, AND Sounds. By Hl/Hatu O, Krohuy Ph. D. 
Report on an Experimental Test of Musical Expressiveness. (Part IL) 

By Benjamin Ives Gihnan. 
The present invesligation made by Mr. Edgar James Swift shows that a dis- 
turbance of the attention through sight is more effective in lengthening the reaction 
time than when the disturbance comes throngh the sense of hearing : but whenever 
the reaction follows a slight sensation, the time of choice is less affected by disturb- 
ances of the attention than if the excitation is a sound. Dr. William O Krohn con- 
cludes, after carefully studying several hundred cases of pseudo-chromesthesia, that 
a greater per cent of them arise from some sort of cerebral work doe to the close 
relation of the cortical centres. Mr. Gilman concludes from experiments made with 
various persons, that musical expressiveness has been overestimated, and that on 
the emotional theory of its nature the importance of the art has also been overes- 
timated (Worcester : J H Orpha.) 

MIND. New Series. No. 4. October, 1892. 

The Field of ^Esthetics Psychologically Considered, il By Hmry 

Rutgers Marshifi 
Lotze's Antithesis between Thought and Things, h. By A. Eastwood. 
The Study of Crime. By KeiK IV. D. Afarrison. 
On the Properties of a One-dimensional Manifold. By Bmj, Ives 

In his present article Mr. H. R. Marshall finds a basis for the differentia lion 
of -Esthetics from Hedonics. in '* pleasure permanency in revival" as belonging 
particularly to the former. Mr. Eastwood criticises Ix>tze*s antithesis between 
thoughts and things which is closely connected with his erroneous opinion that 
ti me is a property of things in themselves. The study of crime by M r. W. D. Morrison 
discusses crime under the three heads of the movement of crime, its causes, and 



its repression, of which the last deals with the theory, the methods, and theeflScacy 
of punishment. In his discussion of the properties of a one-dimensional manifold, 
examples of which are time, the straight line, quantity, intensity, number, and 
pitch, Mr, B, 1 Oilman, who was a pupil of Mr, C S. Peirce, seeks to give a 
formulation of one-dimensionality in which the general notion of relation and 
converse relation is substituted for that of greater and less difference. This 
number of /!//«*/ contains a voluminous note on the blind deaf-mule child, Helen 
Keller, by Prof G. C. Robertson, the late editor, whose death is announced in the 
same number (London : Williams 8c Norgate) Q. 

Vol III. No. I. 

Thb National Traits of the Germans as seen in their RsLiGtoN. By 

Frtf/. Oito PfifuUrer, D. D.. University of Berlin. 
Philanthropy and Morality. By Father Iluntingion. 
Intehnational Quarrels and their Settlement, By Leonard //. IVest^ 

LL. D-, London University^ 
1792 — Year 1, By DavU G, ffiickie, Jesus College* Oxford. 
Utilitarianism, By A. Z. Hodder, 
Book Reviews, 
(Philadelphia : fHi^rmii&nai JaHrnnl of Ethics, Ji8 S. Twelfth Street ) 


CONTENTS: Vol. L No, 5. 
Psych ogesesis. By Pr^iidaU David J, //#//, 
The Problem OF Epistemology. By Prof es tor Andrnv Seth. 
The Origin of Pleasure and Pain, (il) By Dr. Herbert Nichoh, 
Discussions: Realitv and "Idealism." By F, C. X Sehi/Zer, 
Reviews of Books, 
Summaries of Articles. 

CONTENTS: Vol. L No. 6. 
Green's Theory of the Moral Motive. By Prtjf, John Dewey, 
Thought before Language. By Prof, IViltiam James, 
Pleasure- Pain, and Sensation. By Ihnry A'ui^ers MarshalL 
Reviews of Books. 
Summaries op Articles. 
(Boston, New York, Chicago : Ginn & Company.) 


December, 1892. Vol. I. No. 

The Br vhmo Somaj, By Pro tap Ch under Mozormdar, 
The FirTURE of Christianity By iVHthwi A/, St/t.-r. 
Progressive Orthoocxy. By Egbert C, Smyik, 
Michael Servetus. By Joseph Henry Alien, 



The Present Position of the Roman Catholic Church, By G, Snufayantt. 

Tub Chuuch in Gekmany and the Social Question. By Jo^m Gtaham Brooks. 

A World OurstoE or Science. By Thomas Wentworih Higgimon. 

The Birth and Infancy of Jesus By Aih^rt H^viiie. 

The Monistic Theory of the Soul. By Jnmes T. Bixhy. 

The last article is a criticism to the point, discnminating and fair The author 
takes special notice of Dr. Carus's position* whose views are recapitulated with ac- 
curacy, but not accepted as convincing. (Boston : Houghton, Mtfflin, k Co.) 


CONTENTS: September, 1892. No. 201. 
La PEESOKNALIT6 DANS LES rSvbs. By J.-M. Guardin, 
Histoire et PKtLOSOPHrE RELiGiEUSEs. By Af. Ventfs. 
StJR LA termtnologie pHiLosopHiQUE. By Dnrtind (df Gr&s), 


CONTENTS : October, 1892, No. 202, 


Le d^veloppement de LA voLONTfi. (Concluded.) By A. Fpui/Ui, 
Le mouvement pjIdagogtque. By E. Bhttfu 
Analyses et comptes rendus. 
Revues des pfcRioDigues Strangers. 

CONTENTS : November, 1992. No. 203. 
La PSYCKOLOGiB PE W. James. By Z. J/iiW//fVr, 

DB L'UNITE de la science : LES GRANDES synthases DU SAVOIB. By E, de RO' 




Analyses et comptes renjjus. 

Revue des p^riodiques Strangers, (Paris : Felix Alcan.) 


Die neuestk Phase oes Schopenhauerianismus. (Concluded.) Bdumker, 
Die speculativen Grundlagen der optischen Wellentheorie (Concluded.) 

S. J. IJnsmeUr, 
Religion und Entwicjcelungstheorte. (Concluded.) ScAatta, 
Der Substanzbegriff eei Cartesius im Zusammenhang nrr der scholas- 

TiscHEN UNO NEUEREN pHiLosoPHiE. (Continued.) .*>". /. fC.J Liidtmn^. 
Rbcensionrn und Referate. (Fulda ; Fuldaer Actien-Druckerei.) 

Vol. III. 

April, 1S93. 

No. 3. 




THE ancient conflict between religion and science is now, at the 
close of the nineteenth century^ more animated than ever be- 
fore. This conflict has formed the intellectual pivot of civilisation 
ever since Christianity first afforded the western peoples of Europe 
the inconsistent spectacle of a religion which made abundant use in 
its dogmatic constructions of the theories of contemporary^ science, 
and yet assumed a hostile attitude towards the fundamental principle 
of all science, the spirit of research and unbiassed judgment gen- 
erally. Rightly has one of the acutest modern critics of Christian - 
iu% Ludwig Feuerbach,* maintained, that the Christian sophistic 
philosophy is the necessary outcome of this inconsistency, which pro- 
claims as absolute truth a definite, historical revelation, such as is 
found in the Bible, and simply assigns to the reason the subordinate 
and improper office of harmonising and defending what is there laid 

There are, it is true, a great number of people, who are not dis- 
posed to see the bitterness of the conflict now raging. It has be- 
come customary for us to look upon the nineteenth centnry as an 
age of the comprehension of religion, and to distinguish it from the 
eighteenth centur}% which is regarded as a period of mere religious 
criticism. We boast of having rediscovered religion, and of having 

^ Wesen dts CkrlsienifiHms. First edition 1841. Pp. 288-289. 



secured to it a permanent province in the dominion of the mind. 
But the facts of our public life stand in curious contradiction to these 
assertions. In all civilised nations^ in literature, in parliamentary 
procedures, in all questions that relate to religious and moral life 
or to education, the attentive observer will find that a profound 
chasm divides humanity. Every one feels the desirableness of bridg- 
ing over this chasm, that the members of society may be united in 
common labor ; but again and again we are made to experience how 
irreconcilable the respective claims of the opposed parties are. He 
who has studit^d the bulls and encyclical letters of the last two popes, 
Pius IX. and Leo XII L^ and the commentaries on these utterances 
in the Civiita Caiioiica^ the official organ of the curia ; he who is ac- 
quainted with the polemical diatribes of the French Catholics against 
the positivists and freethinkers, and against the school and church 
legislation of the third republic ; he who has any knowledge of that 
mass of controversial literature, which the proclamation of the doc- 
trine of papal infallibility in the year 1870 evoked \ he who has fol- 
lowed the eventful and varied history of the so-called *' Culturkampf " 
in the German Empire, from the era of the minister Falk, down to the 
recent bill for a new School-law in Prussia, defeated amidst the 
greatest excitement in all parts of Germany ; he who is the least bit 
at home in the literary feuds which are being fought out in the do- 
main of historical theology concerning the validity and credibility of 
the original sources of Christianity; he, finally, w*ho will place the 
writings of Cardinal Newman or of the Jesuits Pesch and Cathrein 
by the side of those of Huxley and Spencer, by the side of those of 
Du Bois-Reymond, Strauss, and Dijhring : he, I say, who has gone 
through with a critical spirit all that I have cited in the preceding 
sentences, will surely not be apt to contradict this assertion of mine 
that civilised humanity to-day is separated into two groups which 
no longer understand each other, which do not speak the same lan- 
guage, and which live in totally different worlds of thought and senti- 
ment — at least so far as this one critical point is concerned of man's 
relation to religior. 

** iVu Ja und Ncin iind sU, 
iVie Siurm und Regendo^^^n,^^ 



Have we, then, learned nothing and forgotten nothing since the 
'day's of rationaJism ? The tremendous labors which our own centurj^ 
has devoted to the investigation of religion in all its forms, to the 
unfolding of its connection with racial mind and sentiment, and of 
its relation to civilisation generally, and Bnally to the elucidation of 
the origin and development of the great forms of religion : has all 
this had no other result than that we, after a century of the most 
laborious research, again find ourselves in the same attitude of un- 
intelligent hostility* towards religion and Christianity in which the 
eighteenth century revelled, and out of which we have only fought 
our way by the united efforts of a host of profoundly enlightened 

This argument has been advanced in opposition to the leaders 
of the rationalistic movement and to the work of the eighteenth 
century in varying forms, bj^ the party which seeks to ally the science 
of the present and the religion of the past. It is seriously said and 
enjoined that only they Vho are far behind the science of the times 
and hold aloof from the true spirit of the age can still assume the 
repugnant attitude toward religion which was characteristic of the 
mind of the eighteenth century. 

It is high time to point out the crude confusion of ideas which 
lies at the basis of this argument. It confounds the historical un- 
derstanding o{ a thing with the philosophical approval of it. But 
these are two totally distinct things. We understand a phenomenon 
historically, when we are clear in our minds concerning the external 
conditions and habits of thought of humanity from which it sprung ; 
when its main-springs of action and its purposes, as well as the ef- 
fects which have proceeded from it, are distinctly traceable. The 
more closely our mental pictures of these things correspond to the 
facts as they actually were at the origin, and the more they conduct 
us from the mere surface of phenomena into the secrets of iheir psj*- 
chological and sociological connection, and teach us to understand 
these things as products of mind and of society, the higher will our 
historical knowledge of them be rated. In this sense the knowledge 
which the eighteenth centur^^ had of religious phenomena was un 
doubtedly ver>* imperfect. True, even here great advances beyond 



the age which preceded, are noticeable. People had ceased to re- 
gard the origin of the Jewish and Christian religion as a supernat- 
ural event and as the immediate work of God ; all reh'gions were 
placed upon the same footings as species of the same kind ; and ef- 
forts were made to discover their common characteristics and the 
law of their origin. But the people of that period were not yet able 
to arrive at the true essence of religious ideas and sentiments. They 
were hardly in a position to describe them properly, let alone to ex- 
plain them. Of the hypotheses devised to throw some light into the 
darkness that hung over the beginnings of religions, not one proved 
itself competent to supply what was hoped for. All that they could 
derive from these fictions was that notable caricature of religion 
which their age had directly before its eyes, and to free themselves 
from which they strained ever}' nerv^e. With the keen vision of | 
hate they uncovered all the infirmities of religion, all the terrors and 
iniquities which have followed in its train, all the injurious eHects 
to civilisation which have proceetled from it, *lliey created a negative 
picture of religion, which has lost nothing of its partial historical 
truth by the fact that many of its features are farther withdrawn 
from our immediate experience than they were from that of the 
times in question. 

But it was the nineteenth century that first worked out the true 
psychology of religious man, and again came into possession of that 
spirit of congeniality which is absolutely necessary to our entering 
into the mental life of far-distant times. To the men of the ration- 
alistic age the history of religion was simply the history of the ob- 
scuration of the pure, natural religion, which was supposed to be 
constituted of a rational idea of God and a system of humane ethics, 
and which was indistinctly conceived at times as the logical, and at 
times as the historical, antecedent of the concrete religions. The 
latter appeared as the corruption of the natural and simple order of 
things — a corruption produced by superstition, by the wily exploi- 
tation of human credulity and human needs, by the scheming mach- 
inations of the founders of religions and of priests, by human delight 
in the marvellous, by the falsification of the natural moral senti- 
ments, and by the stirring into life of fanatical passions. We know 



to-day that this so-called natural religion is nothing more than a 
product of late abstraction and reflection ; that the tnotives and 
selfish interests above cited have been abundantly at work in re- 
ligious history, but are nevertheless unable to explain the internal 
motive force and tremendous vitality of these spiritual products. 
We know to-day that religions spring with the same necessity and 
in conformity with similar laws from the depths of the human mind 
as language and art, and that they form an integral constituent part 
of the structure of civilisation and an important weapon of humanity 
in the struggle for existence. In symbolical form they embody the 
highest treasures and highest ideals of national existence ; in its 
gods humanity beholds the imaginative perfection and explanation 
of its view of the world ; and in its religious practices, in its wor- 
ship, in prayer, it strives to realise the wishes and aspirations which 
seem to lie beyond the reach of its powers. 

Many a riddle still remains to be solved, as is natural in a do- 
main that extends into the most hidden recesses of the human soul, 
and whose obscurity is augmented by the fact that in the majority 
of cases the most important and significant elements must be col- 
lected with infinite pains from the rubbish of fantastic traditions. 
But upon the whole the active labors of a century' which calls itself 
with pride *^the historical century/* have borne their fruits. With 
respect to the intrinsic character and the significance of religion for 
civilisation t there is now every reason why a unity of opinion should 
prevail among all who take their stand on the common ground of 
modern scientific research, whether they be friends or opponents of 

But how does a knowledge of what religion has been in the 
past affect our estimate of it in the present ? Do we approve of an 
institution or phenomenon, because we understand how it was once 
possible, nay, must have existed, and what it signified ? We under* 
stand to-day the Roman law. the Ptolemaic astronomy, the scho- 
lastic philosophy, feudalism^ and absolute monarchy, thoroughly ; 
we know the conditions which gave rise to them, the necessity of 
their appearance, and the measure of their performances; but does 
it occur to us^ for these reasons, to perpetuate and make them im- 



mortal because they had once an historical significance? Wliat an 
institution in its essence is, what in past times it has accomplished> 
is an inquiry that must be conducted with quite different means 
from that whether it is applicable to a definite present set of rela- 
tions and necessities. The historian can render this task more easy 
by teaching us to understand the general laws and necessities of na- 
tional life from the analogies of the past ; but as a prophet he will 
always be one that looks backwards^ and it is ever to be feared that 
he, tooj will see the present in the light of the past* For to him 
alone does the past lift its obscuring veil, who, forgetful of self and 
unmindful of sacrifices, can listen to the voices of remote times and 
peoples^ who with a mind of Protean cast has the power to trans- 
form his intellectual being into that to which, solely by description, 
he seeks to give new life and form. The past becomes a part of 
him ; he loves it, he admires it. And from the reanimation of the 
past in historical pictures to the attempt of a renewal of it in life is 
but a single step. 

Innumerable are those who have succumbed to this temptation. 
The entire religious tendency of the nineteenth century exhibits this 
process on a grand scale. This tendency is based on profound an- 
tiquarian studies of the past— on that newly awakened historical 
interest, which aims not only to criticise but to understand religion 
and ecclesiastical institutions. Much that in the previous century 
seemed dead or destined to perish, had been restored to life by it. 
The whole historical structure of the Christian religion, which at 
the close of the age of rationalism only existed, it would seem, as 
an artificially preserved ruin, has received, through the instrumen- 
tality of these methods of thought, new supports, and has again 
been made habitable for the human mind. Unmindful of the com- 
plaints of churchmen, the future historian of civilisation will have 
to characterise the second half of the nineteenth century as a period ' 
of religious renaissance. And it is no accident, but a sj^mptom of 
deep import, that this century has completed ahuost all the great 
cathedrals which were left unfinished and in partial ruins by the 
middle ages, and placed them in their colossal grandeur before the 
world as lasting monuments of its habits and tendencies of thought. 



Yet the spirit of science has also not been inactive. Political 
progress has freed it from the despotic police supervision which 
tfven in the eighteenth century heavily oppressed it. In principle 
at least, freedom of thought and inquiry are to-day acknowledged by 
all governments, with the single exception of the Roman curia, al* 
though in practice there are by no means few efforts made, by in- 
fluencing its representatives, to have that proclaimed which it is 
desired should be proclaimed. Infinitely great has the number of 
workers grown, the instruments of inquiry, the confidence of the 
human mind in itself, and our power generally. And if formerly 
people could conceive of no other science than such as stood in the 
service of the church, to-day science claims it most emphatically 
and confidently as its privilege and duty to search and test the log- 
ical truth of the most sacred traditions, and thus to base the thought 
of future generations, not on the naVve faith of their fathers, but on 
the demonstrable truths of actual present knowledge. 


Between the two groups of modem humanity, of which the one 
seeks to retain the Christian religion in its historical form as the 
precious heritage of the past, and the other to supplant it by a new 
Idealism formed in harmony with the spirit of science, a third class 
stands, which plays the part of a mediator. This class concedes 
that the traditional forms of religion are in great part unadapted to 
the modern mind, and that historical Christianity is in need of im- 
provement, but contends that religion is an ineradicable constituent 
of aJl higher civilisation, and must remain so, and, particularly, that 
Christianity is the absolute religion, that is to say, that in Christian- 
ity as rightly understood and naturally developed all the necessary 
elements of the true religion of the future are contained, 

I should like, in the foJJowing pages, to subject the contentions 
of this mediatory group to a critical examination, and to discuss the 
question whether it is at all possible for one who resolutely takes 
his stand on the ground of modern scientific thought, logically to 
have religion in the historical sense at alL 


In effecting a mediation between the religious and scientific 
views of the world, — views which appear to be separated from eacli 
other by a profound intellectual abyss, — two ways may, generally' 
speaking, be pursued. Both have been frequently trodden since the 
days of rationalism. I shall discuss each separately. 

The attempt inay be made to resume, in a form more adapted 
to modem times, the work of the reformers of the sixteenth century ; 
to go back even more thoroughly than they did to the original and 
simplest forms of Christian! ty^ to remove in Mo the superstructure 
which has been reared upon it in the course of time, and to exhibit 
to homaoity ** the pure doctrine of Christ " as the source from which 
to-day, as a thousand years ago, true comfort may proceed, as the 
simplest, purest, and most exalted expression of the divine and hu- 
man that has ever yet been discovered » Many of the most erudite 
workers in the field of critical theology which this century can show 
have placed themselves in the service of this idea, which is preached 
wuth particular enthusiasm by the so-called ** free-religious " and 
Unitarian confessions, and which at times has also exhibited a noble 
and conciliatory activity in the homiletical work of some mild-minded 
and liberal clergymen in the evangelical churches. But our special 
inquiry here must be concerning the logical and scientific foundation 
of this modernised primitive Christianity, and on this point it must 
be frankly stated that the more faithfully such a Christianity reflects 
the biblical character, the remoter it is from our modern thought, 
and the more it is dominated by modern w^ays of thinking, the more 
unhistorical and hence the more unchristian it becomes. 

The **pure doctrine of Christ," the genuine, primitive form of 
Christianity, is a Utopia of biblical criticism. What ^ve actually 
possess, in the form of historical documents, is that conception of 
the doctrines and life of Christ which was put in writing several 
generations after his death, and which, from amid a much greater 
number of contemporaneous attempts, met by preference with the 
approbation of the church. It is a hopeless task to attempt from 
these late records, which betray the most various intellectual in- 
fluences, to derive the authentic doctrines of the oldest form of Chris- 
tianity. No method, subjective prepossession only, can here render 



a verdict. The things that appear especially consistent and homo- 
geneous to individual theologians and critics are stamped as the 
genuine utterances of the Master, As every time has done, so ours 
also constructs its picture of Christ to conform with its wishes and 

But granting even that there is nothing objectionable in this, 
and that this procedure is perfectly justified, a number of difficulties 
still stand in the way of this movement which have stamped the pro- 
cedure of even the most ingenious of its representatives as the out- 
come of pure subjective capricL^ AH the written sources which we 
possess of the life and teachings of Christ contain much that is iu 
the highest degree repugnant to the modern mmd. I refer particu- 
larly to the miracles. The difficulties which they present may be 
disposed of in various ways ; as, to give an example, by the method 
of the early rationalistic thinkers, who accepted tlie miracles as facts, 
but sought to give them a rational explanation, or by that of Strauss, 
who held that they were the mythical and poetical raiment of reli- 
gious ideas and sentiments* Yet no art of interpretation will banish 
from the world that fact which the poet expressed in the words : 

♦* A/ J IVNUiitr ist t/ifs Giaubcns lUbsie^ Kind,^^ 

The fact that the entire cast of thought and sentiment of early Chris- 
tianity is saturated with the belief in the mar\'eUous, and with the 
expectations, nay, with the actual need of miracles, and that this is 
not an adscitttious ornament which can be doffed at pleasure, like a 
dress which we have outgrown, hut is of the ver^' essence of Chris- 
tianity. Here is rooted that childlike and simple belief in the limit- 
less and God-coercing power of prayer, for which no natural laws 
nor force of necessity exists, which is omnipotent as the Godhead 
itself, and as all-powerful as desire. Here is rooted that ardent con- 
viction of the near collapse of the entire world, of the coming king- 
dom of perfection which shall proceed, not from deeds and thought, 
but from faith and grace, and shall crown all human desires with 
glory. And intimately connected with all this stands the idea, vis- 
ible in the background of all the moral prescripts of the gospels, and 
painted in the strongest colors, of a system of punishments and re- 



wards in the world beyond ; which makes of a God of love, a piti- 
less, infuriate God of vengeance. 

These things are so intimately interwoven with the modes of 
tliought of the synoptic writers that it is impossible to separate them 
therefrom without doing violence to the internal connection of their 
doctrines. They who seek after a more spiritual conception may, 
it is true, find it in the gospel of John. Bnt this book is so com- 
pletely dominated by the metaphysical- religious speculation of the 
second century, and by the effort to bring the history of the life and 
doctrines of the Nazarene in the service of the Logos idea, that the 
modern mind can only with great difficulty find a common ground 
of understanding with it. 

The task of the modern reformers is, for these reasons, a very 
difficult one. They cannot but concede that Christianity, even in 
its purely evangelical form, contains much that is foreign to us, and 
that the elements of which it is composed must in part be excised 
and in part improved by criticism and interpretation. 

But the more the critical sense which is brought to bear upon 
this task is developed in the spirit of modern scientific thought, the 
more will historical Christianity shrink to the form of a mere color- 
less abstraction, and ultimately nothing remains of its exuberant yet 
visionary mental world but the picture of a philanthropic life joined 
to a strongly developed consciousness of God, which proclaims a 
popular morality in commandments and parables. But even this 
latter is inevitably exposed to the same fate as the other ideas. It 
is dominated throughout by the extremest notions of rew^ards and 
punishments, which the expectation of the doom of the world places 
in the very immediate future. It is impossible to take the system as 
a whole, and it must be made the subject of violent interpretation 
to acquire any fitness for the needs of modern life. Its principles are 
systematicall}' turned and twisted till they have acquired in some 
direction practical utility. And who at this day can forget, that this 
S^'Stem of morality, wherever and whenever attempts have been 
made literally and faithfully to imitate it in practical life, has led 
only to wretched caricatures? Moreover, it is again and again freely 
remodelled in the spirit of modern ethics, its offensive elements char- 



itably cloaked, its usefuJ ones developed to the utmost, and finally 
here too a complete set of wholly modern ideas consecrated by the 
borrowed authority of a venerable antiquity. 

And therefore I repeat my contention, that the modern reforma- 
tion, this modern, pure, and scriptural Christianity, will, the hon- 
ester it is, all the more surely lead its adherents away from Scripture 
and from Christianity and ultiinately bring them to the adoption of 
a popularly expounded, bnt philosophically established, ethical 

I shall now take up the second of the two methods above men- 
tioned. That which we have just considered was known and affected 
even by the eighteenth century. The discovery ol the second is a 
merit of the present time. The honor belongs in a pre-eminent de- 
gree to the speculative philosophy of Germany, and to the intimate 
relations with theology which this philosophy, especially in the 
school of Hegel and Schleiermacher, entered into in the first half of 
the century. (Kant's philosophy was not put to similar use until 
later, ) All these movements, whose rich literary ramifications and 
development may be followed to the present day in Otto Pfleiderer's 
excellent and erudite work, **The History of Protestant Theology 
in Germany Since Kant,'' * have also begun in recent times, through 
Green, Caird, A, Seth, J. Martineau, R, Flint, and F. Robertson, 
to exert an influence on Anglo-American intellectual life. 

The common fundamental feature of this second movement is, 
that it proposes to accept as pure Christianity, not only the most 
ancient forms of Christian doctrine accessible to us, but also the 
entire system of dogmatic thoughts which in the couise of the cen- 
turies primitive Christianity has produced. Cliristianity. these men 
say, has historically existed and acted in these maturer notions. It 
is not permissible arbitrarily to separate them from it, and lo reverse 
by any autlroritative edicts the real historical development. On the 
contrary, we now may and must continue the process which, by the 
tenor of dogmatic history, is the process which has continued for 
centuries, and give to the dogmas the form which best accords with 

* Translation published by Swan, Sonnenschein & Co., London, 1S91. 



modern spiritual needs. To-day as in the days of mcipient Chris- 
tianity, we see by the side of the naYve literal belief, which takes no 
offence at incomprehensible things if they only suit the needs of its 
heart, a gnosis arise which strives to reconcile faith and knowledge^ 
religion and intellectual culture; a gnosis which to the unbelieving 
sceptic quotes the words of the poet : 

* */>!> Geistenveit hi nuht venchhssert ; 
Dan Stmt isi su; dein Hers tst iodi! 
Au/I hade^ SchUier^ unverdrosxen 
DU ird^scki Brust hn AfergtnrtjiihP^ 

It is perhaps even more diflBcult to give a succinct and compre- 
hensive notion of the ideas of this speculative theology, than of the 
results of the New Testament exegesis of which w^e spoke above. 
All gradations are here represented, from tender, conservative regard 
for the traditional beliefs of the sects and the needs of the pious heart 
to the boldest speculative interpretations and critical restrictions of 
dogma, which utterly discard the historical form and hold fast only 
to a central germinal truth. The present inquir)^ will restrict itself 
to those representatives of this gnosis, who as a matter of principle 
grant the greatest field of action to the rational development of 
do^ma, and represent its philosophical elaboration in its finest and 
most complicated form. I shall attempt to signalise the ideas which 
may to-day be designated as the most spiritualised expression of the 
Christian view of the world. 

And first let us hear a greater mind speak. In Ludwig Feuer- 
bach's essays on the nature of religion and Christianity the followMng 
sentences occur: 

**The Christian religion is the revealed inwardness, the objec- 
** lively expressed self of man ; the contents of his highest aspira- 
"tions; the essence of man purified and 'freed from the limitations 
** of individuality; yet all subjectivised, that is intuited, known, and 
** worshipped as a separate, independent entity, wholly distinct from 
** himself. Religion is essentially dramatical. God himself is a 
** dramatical creation, that is to say, a personal being opposed to 
"man. He who takes from religion this idea, takes from it the gist 
**of its being, and holds but the capui mortuum in his hands," 



These sentences of Feuerbach express with the greatest gene- 
rality and precision the innermost nature of the Christian view of 
the world. They characterise excellently the point that cannot be 
given up without destroying the religous view as such. What I refer 
to is dualism ; the dualism of the divine and the human, of the world 
beyond, and the world that is, of holiness and sin ; dualism con- 
ceived not merely as a mode of view and of conceptual distinction, 
as a working contrariety in things that by their nature are one, but 
as a metaphysical difference, an actual contraposition of two worlds, 
of two kingdoms of existence, which are totally separate, no matter 
how extensive the relations of the one to the other may be. Only 
on such a supposition is that possible which Feuerbach, with inimi- 
table aptness, called *'the dramatic element** of religion. The his- 
tory of humanity, the history of its religious life particularly, is no 
monologue of humanity with itself into which life and advancement 
enter solely through the multitude of the ideas created by individuals 
within the race itself. It is an action or process in a higher sense, 
an interactivity between two worlds, in which, it is true, humanity, 
to a certain extent, shapes its own fortunes and destiny, but at the 
same time is also constantly exposed to the interferences of a power 
which stands beyond and above it and to which it has to accommo- 
date itself. And whatever artifices and care many of the represen- 
tatives of the modern gnosis may employ to conceal this fundamental 
assumption, and to substitute for it the point of view of the imma- 
nence of this power in the world, still any radical breach with it is 
impossible without endangering the very foundations of the religious 
sense of humanity itself. 

The indispensability of this dualistic opposition and separation 
is equally well exhibited whether we take as our starting-point the 
existence of the world at large or the individual consciousness of 
man. The religious mode of view knows of no other way of assert- 
ing the rights and activity of the mind in the All than by making 
aJl existence assume a personal life in an infinite, self-conscious, and 
ethically perfect being. The emotions and experiences of one's 
heart, its vacillations bet%veen humility and exaltation, remorse at 
the consciousness of one*s own imperfections, the inspired flight of 


the soul to higher realms of existence, appear as the intercourse 
man with some extraneous power, alUetl to man and yet above him, 
in which the sum of all excellence to which thought and experience 
have ever led man, has its eternal source. 

These ideas constitute the point of view which is decisive of the 
history of humanity, particularly in what concerns religion. The 
histor}' of religion is, in accordance with these ideas, conceived as a 
continuous self-revelation of God in the world of man. True, this 
view seems to be contradicted by the fact that the self -revelation of 
this infinitely good power is effected in the case of by far the greater 
part of mankind in a very insufficient manner — in the form, namely, 
of crude and superstitious notions which stand in need of constant 
purification by reason. But the explanation of this fact is sought 
in the idea of a divine pedagogical training of the human race, and 
in the theory that religion is not an immediate self-revelation of the 
absolute, but passes through the medium of the human mind and 
consequently must be conditioned by its character. 

Christianity, now, especially appears as the highest form of this 
self-revelation of God in humanity, that is to say as the absolute re- 
ligion, which, in its historical forms, it is true, is as little free from 
adscititious ornaments and transient obscurations as other religions, 
yet in its essence can be as little improved as it can be discarded. 
This innermost essence of Christianity the majority of the represen- 
tatives of this modern gnosis declare to be the conviction that all 
men are from the beginning children of God. In this idea two things 
are contained : submission to the will of God who is conceived as a 
kind parent and who in pity and love does everything for the best ; 
and the imitation in our own thought and conduct of the ethical 
perfection conceived incarnate in God. The entering of man into 
this relation is designated the kingdom of God — ^a notion which con- 
stitutes the ideal goal of history. The condition of mind on which 
the kingdom of God rests is prefigured in a typical manner in the 
founder of the Christian religion. His person and his life are a 
guarantee of the possibility of this ideal, and exhibit at the same 
time the means of its accomplishment : namel}^ the helping love of 
God, which has infused into this one individual the whole plenitude 



of its being, so far as this is at all possible with human capacities, 
that humanity may have in it a direct living picture of the highest 
fulfilment of its religious and moral destiny. The historical Christ 
is the ideal of humanity, supported and ensouled by the spirit of 

The modern gnosis here goes back to the Paul in i an interpreta- 
tion of the Christ- idea. The consideration of the speculative diffi- 
culties of the idea of the Trinity is thus rendered superfluous for it. 
This notion is treated by the majority of its representatives simply 
as a dogmatic antiquity ; its place is taken by the modern ideas of 
a distinction between the person of Jesus and the principle or spirit 
of Christianityi which is synonymous with the contrast of die idea 
and its revelation, the eternal and the temporal, of the inward essence 
and its historical realisation. That it employs the notions of idea, 
principle, and essence wholly in a Platonic sense, as the highest 
metaphysical realities, is self-evident. 

More distant still is the attitude which this speculative theology 
assumes towards another idea which proceeded from the Rabbinical 
school of thought of Paul : the notion of salvation or redemption in 
its connection with the expiatory death of Christ. From these con- 
ceptions of punitive suffering, of a vicarious atonement of God in 
his own person — conceptions of such juristical refinement as to be 
wholly unacceptable to modern modes of thought — the modern 
gnosis has upon the whole resolutely turned away and taken refuge 
in that more spiritual and more profound idea which in early Chris- 
tian times thtr author of the gospt;l of St. John promulgated. The 
death of Christ is redemptive only in the sense in which Christ's 
total histor>^ is redemptive, as the direct and prefigurative incarna- 
tion of the true religious relation between God and man. This is, 
it is true, applicable in a quite special sense to the Death ; for it 
was by this that the eternal truth was manifested, that not only does 
all salvation accrue to man from the sacrifice of his own self in 
duteous and patient love, but that all the life of God is an emanation 
of this self-surrendering excellence, of this bliss of self-sacrifice. 
Still, there is one thing that is common to all the representatives of 
this movement as distinguished from the former, and that is this: 


i'HE >fONlST. 

they do not content themselves with picturing the activity of Jesns 
Christ in general outlines solely as one which is blessed and signifi- 
cant by example and doctrine for humanity, but they assume a con- 
tinuous and active presence of the Christian principle in humanity, 
by means of which the moral discord in individuals is overcome, and 
in the personal spiritual life of individuals divine and human nature 
are united. This is the most speculative interpretation we have of 
the old dogmatic notion of redemption, which from its original char- 
acter as a single isolated phenomenon of history' has here become 
the constant activity of a Christian principle, and an ever-living 
precedent of Christian life. 

It would be a prolix and wearisome task to go through in this 
way the whole dogmatism of this speculative theology. The funda- 
mental ideas which we have discussed will suffice to show the man- 
ner in which, on the one hand, it spiritualised the allegorical no- 
tions of popular Christianity, but on the other left untouched the 
gist of the religious view and the dramatical or dualistic opposition 
of the divine and human. The notions of grace and sanctification, 
the notion of the church as a living, organised instrument of salva- 
tion, spring directly and logically from these fundamental ideas. 

In the province of ethics this movement has a much easier task 
than the churches based on the New Testament. As it seeks to es- 
tablish, not a primitive Christianity, but a modernised Christianity 
developed In the spirit of recent times, there is no necessity of its 
being incommoded by the ethical crudenesses of early Christianity, 
but it is in the same position to work these crude nessesover criti- 
caUy as it did the asperities of the old dogmas. It can assimilate 
most of what it needs from modern philosophical ethics, and content 
itself with giving to what it has thus borrowed a metaphysically re- 
ligious background derived from dogmatic traditions. 

That this modern gnosis is in a constant state of vacillation with 
respect to the practical things of life, is a necessary consequence of 
its fundamental assumptions and of its position towards the doc- 
trines of the church. Its foremost representatives acknowledge 
without any reserve that the true source from which religious emo- 
tions and sentiments flow is the symbolic or imaginative faculty of 



man. The grandly simple pictures in which the ancient Christian 
faith found satisfaction are now in the course of time inevitably dis- 
integrated by the critical reason. The speculative theology itself 
proclaims that its vocation is one of cooperation towards this end. 
But it maintains nevertheless that the fruits of this work, the specu- 
lative interpretation of the dogmas, their exaltation into the sphere 
of the Idea, are fit only (or initiated minds, and are caviare for the 
general. The general^ the people, want and will use religion in the 
form which its fancy has created, and it cannot be revealed to it in 
any other. Progressive in its theories, this gnosis is in its eccle- 
siastical practice thoroughly conservative. It thinks two kinds of 
thought, and speaks two kinds of languages, according as it finds 
itself in the pulpit or in the professorial chair. And it is in just this 
procedure that it assumes a position which it is very difficult to at- 
tack. He, who working for a sound and progressive popular en- 
lightenment on the ground of a unitary view of the world, opposes 
the further use of the antiquated and effete allegories of the old re- 
ligions, is told that he is behind the times, and that religion, nur- 
tured by the spirit of modem science, has become something differ* 
ent from what it formerly was. In very strict ecclesiastical quarters 
this gnosis is looked at askance, and accused of insincerity, nay, of 
secret alliance with unbelief ; but the movement never allowed it* 
self to be led astray by these accusations, and has never failed to 
assert its right of cooperation in the common work of the Christian 
church. For though it pretends to be in the hands of the thinking 
theologian a means of bringing into harmony the faith which he 
must confess and the thought which he cannot abandon, it yet ad- 
mits, that with the majority of mankind the allegory will always re- 
main an essential element of religion, and that therefore the task of 
scientific theology can never be to destroy these vessels of religion, 
but only to exercise a watchful care, that with the form the spirit 
also may not be lost* 

The question now arises, ^-and this brings us back to the con- 
siderations of the first part of this essay^ — Does this rationalised 



Christianity of to-day really meet the demands of science, and if it 
does not, is it in the power of the modern scientific world-concep- 
tion to furnish from its own resources some suhstitute for the reli- 
gious views of the past ? 

My answer to this question will be short and concise ; for the 
existence of The M&ntsi^ the fundamental idea of its management, 
and the total character of the efforts which it has hitherto made, 
speak with sufficient emphasis* And we may, therefore, with the 
greatest respect for the scientific zeal and the personal ability of 
many of the representatives of this mediatory theology, say, without 
further ado : This rationalised Christianity of yours also is myth and 
symbol; it still adheres to that '^dramatic'* division of the world 
which our imaginations produced, and to the metaphysical dualism 
of God and man ; it cannot lift itself to a rigorous conception of the 
All in One, for which God is in the same sense a simple function of 
human thought as thought is a function of the human organism. 
The God on whom all depends in religion, the God whose name is 
** Father/' the God of love and goodness, the God from whom all 
great thoughts and all grand resolves spring, the God who sanctifies 
us and lifts us above the earth — ^to displace this God from the world 
in which he has no place, into the inward being of humanit}^ seems 
at this day so strange, nay, inconceivable, only because we have ac- 
customed ourselves (and dowTi to the times of Mill and Feuerbach, 
even strict monistic thinkers like Spinoza fell victims to this illusion) 
to mingle together in the idea of God two wholly distinct ideas — the 
ideas, namely, of nature and of an ethical ideal. To preserve this 
latter inviolate, and to secure it from all encroachments of human 
caprice, one thing alone seemed to the naive dramatic modes of 
thought of early times a competent safeguard : the ideal must in 
some locality be real ; the highest to which human thought and as- 
piration can exalt itself must be sought and must exist in some su- 
perhuman reality. And what reality could be better adapted to this 
than one on which even nature was conceived to be dependent ? 
The entire history of the development of the idea of God in the 
Graeco- Roman and Hebrew worlds, the confluence of these two 
streams of thought in Christian speculation, exhibit in the clearest 



possible manner these motives^ which here I can only Ughtly touch 

But this combmation of the law of nature and the law of ethics 
in the idea of God^ ahhough solving some of the difHculties of hu- 
manity, has plunged it into incomparably greater ones. Through 
ail the centuries of Christian thought a succession of desperate at- 
tempts may be traced to establish a theodicy, that is to say, attempts 
to demonstrate the existence in nature and in history of a God which 
harmonises with the ethical ideal. Even Kant could undertake to 
demonstrate the ** necessary failure of all attempts at a theodicy,*' 
and whoever might still have entertained any doubt as to the cor- 
rectness of this demonstration, such a one must surely have been 
convinced of it by the scientific development of the past century. 
That which was indissolubly welded together in the Christian idea 
of God is to-day disintegrated into its component elements. The 
Lord abtw€ nature, the Spirit luhind nature, have been rendered in- 
conceivable by the modern notions of the conformity to law of all 
natural occurrences and of the unity of ali existence. The spirit im- 
manent in the All no thinker %vill deny, for this spirit manifests it- 
self in an indisputable manner in the fact that this All is a cosmos, 
not a chaos, that not only the caprice of chance but also the laws of 
necessity rule in it, and that the personal self-conscious mind springs 
from its midst But from this recognition of mind in the All, there 
is no bridge that leads to the old idea of God, We cannot worship 
the All as a moral ideal. We involve ourselves in absurd compli- 
cations when we attempt to derive the actions of natural events and 
their conformity^ to law from ethical categories, and it is no less a 
desperate undertaking to imagine that we can draw impulses for our 
moral thought and conduct from nature. The adaptation of means 
to ends, the teleology, that rules in the All, is veiled for us in the 
deepest obscurity. AH that we can unravel of it has no resemblance 
to that which, according to our notions, is ethical : 

*'Denn unfnhlend ht iiie N'niur,** 

she does not know what love or mercy is ; she knows only the om- 
nipotent power of universal laws ; she knows only the rights of the 



whole, to which she sacrifices with unconcern the individxial ; she 
revels in the double pleasure of unceasing creation and unceasing 
destruction ; she arms unpityingly the strong against the weak ; in 
crises of annihilation she restores the disturbed equilibrium of things ; 
but the palm of peace no one has ever seen in her hand. And we ? 
We stand amazed at her might and greatness^ at the plentitude of 
her powers of creation, at her myriad play of forces, at the inex- 
haustible wealth of the relations with which she binds being to 
being, creates and mediates contrarieties, and amidst the most varied 
change and alternation, ever remains one and the same ! But our 
protot}^pe, our God, she can never be. To him we must look up ; 
but on nature, despite her might, despite her stupendous grandeur, 
we look down. She did not whisper in our ears that in us which is 
best and highest* That did not come to us from heaven j im* our- 
selves won it by hard struggles, by terribly severe, self imposed dis- 
cipline. It is not 1/ nature ; it is above nature. Through us some- 
thing has come into the world that before us did not exist — some- 
thing that the most exuberant creative magic, or nature's grandest 
mechanical dreams, could never replace. The day on which first a 
human being pressed his weaker fellow-man to his breast and said^ 
** Brother, not mine, but thy w^U be done ] I will give up my desires 
that thou also mayst be glad ^' ; the day on which man first lifted up 
his head and said, ** Let us make the world gtwdm the likeness of the 
picture that has become living in us, just as it should be" ; this is 
the great and sanctified day in the history of our race on earth, the 
Christmas day on which God was born. But not as the religious 
fancy has expressed it, the day on which God became man, but the 
day on which man began to become God, that is the day on which 
he began to feel spiritual powders in his breast that transcended his 
animal impulses — ^powers to which the majority of humanity was 
still as remote as heaven from earth. 

This strict anthropological conception of God as the ideal which 
is always newly creating itself in the struggles of humanity, which 
is no Being but a Becoming, solves the innumerable difficulties 
which the idea of God has hitherto placed in the way of rigorous 
scientific knowledge and the construction of a unitary conception of 



the world. This God has nothing to do with the All. We need 
not seek him in the All or behind the A!l» and need not fear that 
any progress of our knowledge will make his existence a matter of 
doubt with us. Concerning the real validity of this idea we need 
not bother ourselves with more or less weak and insufficient demon- 
strations : the whole historj'^ of humanity is evidence of it if we but 
know how to rightly interpret it, and the stumbling block of the old 
theological idea of God has become the corner-stone upon which 
the new scientific conception is built. 

Nature and human history the work of an omnipotent and all 
kind being that is mediately and immediately active in all events, 
nay, sacrificed himself in his own person that he might realise in 
this world his purposes ! Compare the principle, the acti%^e force 
of this world'drama, pictured by the religious fancy as the highest 
power, the highest wisdom, and all-merciful love, with the real 
spectacle of the world 3 Is there anywhere a more pronounced con- 
tradiction, an obscurer riddle, a more inconceivable contrast between 
purpose and accomplishment ? This world of cruelty and woe, in 
which one creature feeds on the heart*blood of another, in which here 
and there from seas of mud and dirt a form of light springs up, in 
which every nobler production must be bought with torrents of blood 
and tears; this revelation and self-manifestation of God in humanity, 
which everywhere appears joined to definite historical suppositions, 
which lacks all the conditions of true universality and of indisput- 
able evidence, so that instead of forming a means of union it has 
become the source of dreadful contentions ; this work of salvation 
and sanctification which is so restricted in its effects that *^the king- 
dom of God^' is still a dreamy vision of humanity, so restricted that 
we still see the majority of men, despite the most extraordinary su- 
pernatural dispositions, still remain far behind the simple ideals of 
natural ethical commandments, that hate and dissension, cruelty 
and selfishness, perform their unhallowed work — is this the work of 
infinite power and infinite wisdom? What claims theodicy makes 
on human thought I And how different the picture is, the moment 
we abandon the false theocentric point of view and assume the an- 
thropocentric ! Instead of a belief which all facts contradict — ^an 



they do not content tlieniselves with picturing the activity of Jesus 
Christ in general outlines solely as one which is blessed and signifi- 
cant by example and doctrine for humanity, but they assume a con- 
tinuous and active presence of the Christian principle in humanitVi 
by means of which the moral discord in individuals is overcome, and 
in the personal spiritual life of individuals divine and human nature 
are united. This is the most speculative interpretation we have of 
the old dogmatic notion of redemption, which from its original char- 
acter as a single isolated phenomenon of history has here become 
the constant activity of a Christian principle, and an ever-living 
precedent of Christian life. 

It would be a prolix and wearisome task to go through in this 
way the whole dogmatism of this speculative theology. The funda- 
mental ideas which we have discussed will suffice to show the man- 
ner in which, on the one hand, it spiritualised the allegorical no- 
tions of popular Christianity, but on the other left untouched the 
gist of the religious view and the dramatical or dualistic opposition 
of the divine and human. The notions of grace and sanctification, 
the notion of the church as a living, organised instrument of salva- 
tion^ spring directly and logically from these fundamental ideas. 

In the province of ethics this movement has a much easier task 
than the churches based on the New Testament. As it seeks to es- 
tablish, not a primitive Christianity, but a modernised Christianity 
developed in the spirit of recent times, there is no necessity of its 
being incommoded by the ethical crudenesses of early Christianity, 
but it is in the same position to work these crude nessesover criti- 
cally as it did the asperities of the old dogmas. It can assimilate 
most of what it needs from modern philosophical ethics, and content 
itself with giving to what it has thus borrowed a metaphysically re- 
ligious background derived from dogmatic traditions. 

That this modern gnosis is in a constant state of vacillation with 
respect to the practical things of life, is a necessary consequence of 
its fundamental assumptions and of its position towards the doc- 
trines of the church. Its foremost representatives acknowledge 
without any reserve that the true source from which religious emo- 
tions and sentiments flow is the symbolic or imaginative faculty of 




man. The grandly simple pictures in which the ancient Christian 
faith found satisfaction are now in the course of time inevitably dis- 
integrated by the critical reason. The speculative theology itself 
proclaims that its vocation is one of cooperation towards this end. 
But it maintains nevertheless that the fruits of this work, the specu- 
lative interpretation of the dogmas, their exaltation into the sphere 
of the Idea, are fit only for initiated minds, and are caviare for the 
general. The general, the people, want and will use religion in the 
form which its fancy has created, and it cannot be revealed to it in 
any other. Progressive in its theories, this gnosis is in its eccle- 
siastical practice thoroughly conservative. It thinks two kinds of 
thought, and speaks two kinds of languages, according as it finds 
itself in the pulpit or in the professorial chair. And it is in just this 
procedure that it assumes a position which it is very difficult to at- 
tack. He, who working for a sound and progressive popular en- 
lightenment on the ground of a unitary view of the world, opposes 
the further use of the antiriuated and e0ete allegories of the old re- 
ligions, is told that he is behind the times, and that religion, nur- 
tured by the spirit of modem science, has become something differ- 
ent from what it formerly was. In very strict ecclesiastical quarters 
this gnosis is looked at askance, and accused of insincerity, nay, of 
secret alliance with unbelief ; but the movement never allowed it* 
self to be led astray by these accusations, and has never failed to 
assert its right of cooperation in the common work of the Christian 
church. For though it pretends to be in the hands of the thinking 
theologian a means of bringing into harmony the faith which he 
must confess and the thought which he cannot abandon, it yet ad- 
mits, that with the majority of mankind the allegory wiU always re- 
main an essential element of religion, and that therefore the task of 
scientific theology can never be to destroy these vessels of religion, 
but only to exercise a watchful care, that with the form the spirit 
also may not be lost. 


The question now arises, ^ — and this brings us back to the con- 
siderations of the first part of this essay, — Does this rationalised 


4 RE religion and science indeed as contrary as they are often 
f\^ represented to be, and is the proposition to reconcile them 
a hopeless and futile undertaking ? Professor Jodl, in his article 
'* Religion and Modern Science," (pp. 329-351 of this number,) 

" That civilised huraanily to-day is separated into two* groups which do longer 
understand each other, which do not speak the same language, and which live in 
totally different worlds of thought and sentiment. ' 

There are those wlio chng to the old religions and those who 
supplant it by a new idealism. Between both, he adds : 
"A third class stands which plays the part of a mediator." 

Professor Jodl does not approve of reconciling the historical 
forms of religion with science. He rightly says : 

"The ■ pure doctrine of Christ/ the genuine, primitive form of Christianity, is 
a Utopia of biblical criticism/' 

We heartily agree with him in his remarks concerning the part 
which the miraculous and supernatural play in the Gospels: 

'* These things are so intimately joterwoven with the modes of thought of the 
synoptic writers that it is impossible to separate them therefrom without doing vio- 
lence to the internal connection of their doctrines/' 

We also concur upon the whole with Professor Jodl in his criti- 
cism of the methods of Speculative Theology. No compromising 
with traditional errors, no covering or extenuating of the results of 
historical criticism is allowable merely for the love of tradition and 
for the preservation of errors that have become dear to a large num- 
ber of people. 



We do not condemn the work of any mediator ; on the con- 
UsLTy, we rather encourage it. We observe with pleasure in the 
latest phases of the religious evolution of Speculative Theology the 
prevalence of a more modern spirit, and we follow with a keen in- 
terest also the progress of biblical critique in its truly valuable 
labors : but we do not expect that either the one or the other will 
accomplish any regeneration of religion. 

Professor Jodl knows very well that the editors of T/t^ Mont's/ 
and T/it Open Court have not undertaken any work of compromising 
between the errors of the past and the ideal of the future. Our 
idea of a reconciliation between religion and science is of a different 
nature. We are not blind to the errors of the old religions, and we 
do not mean to gloss them over, or to make old-fashioned views 
acceptable by presenting them in a new garment We do not even 
stop to bur\' the dead, for we have better things to do than to 
trouble with problems that have been definitely settled. We keep 
our hands to the plough to accomplish the work needed to-day. 

While we are not blind to the errors of the old religions, we 
recognise at the same time that they contain in the language of 
parables some great truths which will remain foreven These truths 
constitute the backbone of religion, and we regard it as a very im- 
portant duty of ours to preserve them. These truths must be pre- 
served, not because they were believed in by our fathers, nor from 
any respect for tradition, nor from any regard for our sentiments, but 
simply because they are truths, because they can be proved to be 
true according to the methods of scientific inquiry. 

What is religion ? Religion consists of all those ideas which 
regulate our conduct. In the savage these ideas are very crude and 
superstitious, and often self -contradictory. The higher a man rises, 
the clearer, the more scientific and consistent do these ideas become, 
until they develop into a systematic world-conception. Ever)^ scien- 
tific idea that changes our world-conception will change also our re- 
ligion and with it our rules of conduct. Thus, for example, the idea 
of evolution has become to us an eminently religious idea. 

In order to indicate thai the criterion of truth for religion is the 
very same thing as the criterion of truth for science, we have pro- 


posed to call the religion we advocate, **The Religion of Science." 
( For details see the editorial of Voh VII, No. i, of Tlu Open Court. ^ 

Our procedure appears to many as an annihilation of religion 
in favor of science. But it is not. And why not? 

We have learned many truths first from religion, long before 
science could ever think of proving them. In several respects science 
took the lead, and religion remained at a long distance behind, awk- 
wardly, very slowly, and unwillingly limping onward on the road of 
progress. Instances are, the acceptance of the Copernican system 
and of the evolution theory. But in other respects religion took the 
lead, and science was unable to follow its ingenious flight. As in- 
stances of this we cite such moral truths as the love of enemies, which 
were not preached by scientists as scientific truths, but by religious 
teachers, by Confucius, Buddha, and Christ. There are scientists 
even to-day who regard what we would caJl ** moral truths" as max- 
ims that are contrary to the established views o science. Professor 
Huxley, for instance, is very emphatic in his declaration that the 
facts of nature do not teach morality.* 

This leads us to a point in which we disagree with Professor 
JodL He speaks of the illusion **of mingling together in the idea of 
God two wholly distinct ideas — the ideas namely of nature and of 
an ethical ideal" — an illusion to which '*even strict monistic think- 
ers like Spinoza fell victims.'* 

Professor JodPs position reminds us of John Stuart Mill's 
*^ Essay on Nature," in which he exposes the old doctrine naiuram 
scqui in all its absurd meanings and carefully avoids a discussion of 
the only rational conception of the precept- Tlius his tirades ap- 
pear most convincing, and to be sure they are quite correct — so far 
as they go. Says Mill : 

*'lo sober truths nearly all the things which men are hanged or imprisoned for 
domg to one another, are nature's every -day performances. Killing, the most crim- 
inal act recognised by hnman laws, Nature does once to every being that lives. . , 

•'Nature impales men, breaks them as if on the wheel, casts them to be de- 
voured by wild beasts, bums them to death, crushes them with stones like the first 
Christian martyr, starves them with hunger, freezes them with cold, poisons them 

* For a discussion of this point see Fundanumtai Pr&^Ums, pp. 219-22^. 



by the quick or slow venoin of her exhalations, and has hundreds of other hideous 
deaths in reserve, such as the iDgenious crvielty of a Nabis or a Doinitian never 

Mill must indeed have felt the need of beginning these sen> 
fences with the words '*In sober truth"; otherwise he might be 
suspected of humor. 

Similarly comical is Mill's proposition to regard every volun- 
tary action of man as a direct infringement upon nature. Man's 
reason in that case would be the most unnatural phenomenon in the 
world, and the terra ** nature" would be confined to the lowest 
realms of existence exclusively. H the usage of reason were indeed 
an infringement upon nature, man's appearance upon earth would 
mark the beginning of a supernatural realm ; and Professor Jodl 
seems to accept this consequence when he says : 
"It is not f?/ nature, it is ah0ve nature "* 

If man's rationality and his ethics were not bom of nature, if 
their conditions were not founded in the very existence of nature, if 
they were not the natural product of evolution, then indeed I see no 
escape from a dualistic world-conception, in which a supernatural 
God introduces the spark of divinity which appears in the soul of 
man from spheres beyond. 

We have devoted to these vagaries of John Stuart Mill an 
elaborate discussion in another place and do not f^el the need of re- 
peating our arguments in this connection,* 

We agree with Professor Jodl that no rationalising of old dog- 
mas will help us in the establishment of **a new idealism, formed 
in harmony with the spirit of science/* We must build our religion 
anew (as every generation had to build its religion anew) out of the 
best materials which are furnished by the maturest and most reli- 
able knowledge of to-day. Says Professor Jodl r 

•* Through hs something has come into the wLirld that before us did not exist — 
[ ffoinething that the most exuberant creative magic, or nature's grandest mechanical 

♦ See the article in Nas. 239, 24 1« and 242 of The Opett^ Cffurt : Nature ami 
Morality. An Examination of the Ethical Views of John Stuart Mill. T The 
Meaning of Basing Ethics Upon Nature. II. The Ethics Taught by Nature. Ill 
Intelligent Action and Moral Action IV- The Anthropomorphic Standpoint of 



dreams, could never replace. The day on which first a human being pressed his 
weaker feliow-man to his breast and said» " Brother^ not mine, but thy will be 
done ; I will give up my desires that thou also mayst be glad" ; the day upon which 
man first lifted up his head and said, " Let us make the world gotui in the likeness 
of the picture that has become living in us^ just as it should be " ; this is the great 
and sanctified day in the history of our race on earth, the Christmas day on which 
God was born "' 

Certainly the origin of man on earth, and again the evolution 
of the moral man, is something quite new. which before did not 
exist But did humanity originate out of nothing, as sometimes the 
imaginations of a poet are supposed to be created, or is there a pro- 
totype in whose image man has been created ? Man's reason, his 
ethics, and his humanity are something that did not exist before, 
but there is a feature in existence which makes it possible that ra- 
tional and moral beings develop. Should there be sentient beings 
on other planets, and we have little reason to doubt it, we can be 
sure that they also will develop rational minds, and that they also 
will learn, perhaps as we did, through many bitter experiences, the 
same truths which constitute our main maxims of morality,* in- 
cluding such precepts as tlie love of enemies. And why are we sure 
that on other planets not only reason, but also the fundamental 
rules of ethics will be the same as with us here on earth? Simply 
because we know that there is a certain feature in reality which 
creates rational beings and moral beings as naturally as it creates 
rocks and seas on the surface of planets* Man*s reason and also 
man's morality are not original inventions of his, but the residt of 
many experiences which he had to learn. And the world in %vhich 
he lives is such that he can acquire reason and morality, and if a 
being should acquire a wrong kind of reason or a wrong kind of 
morality, it will by and by be blotted out of existence. Accord- 
ingly there is a prototype of reason and of morality, and this proto- 
type of the humanity of man is exactly that which in the language 
of the old religions has received the name **God/' 

* I purposely do not say n/i maxims of conduct, because we can very well 
imagine that diflferent conditions may produce some very important variations in the 
rules of conduct ; but the main foundation of morality would be the same. 



We must make a distinction between ideals and dreams. Those 
creations of our fancy which are woven without any regard to reality 
are dreams. They have no value beyond whiling away a leisure hour 
or pleasing our imagination. Bui those creations of our mind which 
construct realisable formations such as machines or clocks or higher 
conditions of human society, are not mere dreams, they are ideals. 
What, then, is the difference between a dream and an ideal? A 
dream is a useless ebullition of an idle brain composed of ideas to 
which there is no correspondent reality ; but an ideal is a potent 
factor in the living presence to shape the future : it is a combina- 
tion of ideas which are correct descriptions of actual realities. The 
moral aspirations of mankind are not empty dreams, they are true 
and veritable ideals. There are certain qualities in nature which 
make their realisation possible and these qualities constitute the 
Divinity of nature. 

Professor Jodl speaks of the origin of morality as of the birth 
of God on earth. Truly that is the meaning of Christianity. But 
this birth of God into the world of human evolution as ** the Son of 
Man '' is possible only because of the existence of the God in nature 
whom Christian mythology^ so beautifully calls God the Father. The 
appearance of the Son of Man upon earth, the birth of moralit\% is 
a revelation of the divinity of nature. 

True enough, as Professor Jodl says, that we ourselves won the 
best and highest we have by hard struggles, by terribly severe, self- 
imposed discipline. As Prometheus says : 

**Niist liu nuht tilffs s^ihsi votUndit^ 
Heilig gliikend mrzt »' 

That, too, is part of the divinity of nature, that every creature has to 
work out its verj' being itself, and that man must search for the way 
of salvation with great anxiety, under bitter tribulations and through 
extreme afflictions. But he cannot invent a new way of salvation, 
he has to find it, and there is but one that is the right one. The 
nature of morality is such as it is, and no other morality could be in- 
vented to replaPe it. And this feature of existence which makes 
morality quite a determined thing is a real presence in the world, it 
is an actual quality of the universe. 



Some of our liberal friends, foreraost among them Professor 
Haeckel, deny the existence of a personal God and then proceed to 
declare that the God of science is nothing but matter and energy. 
We agree with Professor Haeckel in his rejection of anthropothe- 
ism ; God is no supernatural being nor is he a huge world-ego. But 
we cannot accept his view of God as being only matter and energy. 
The idea of God is and always has been a moral idea. Thus we 
have come to regard all those features of nature as divine which 
condition the origin and existence of morality and we define God as 
the authority of moral conduct. This authority is not a person, not 
a sentient being, let alone a sentimental philanthropist ; but it is, 
nevertheless, a reality, and, indeed, a stern reality. 

Such is the God of science. God is that quality of existence 
through which we originated as feeling, thinking, and aspiring beings. 
He is the prototype of the human soul, and the condition under 
which develop man's reason and morality. Obedience to him is in- 
dispensable for a continued existence, for further progress and a 
higher evolution of the human soul. That these featiu'es of reality 
can by a great number of keen and fearless modern thinkers be sup- 
posed to be a non- entity is difficult to understand. This negation 
of the reality of qualities of existence which are not individual things 
but intrinsically inherent in all the individual things, it appears to 
us, is an old heirloom of nominalism. The nominaiistic philosophy 
represented by Roscellinus was suppressed at the council at Soissons 
1092, only to rise more powerfully in the fourteenth century in Wil- 
Ham of Occam, and finally to exterminate realism with all its rubbish 
of errors together with the troth contained in these errors. Kant 
marks in many respects the culmination of the victorious movement 
of nominalism. With all the benefits modern thought derived from 
the philosophical work of nominalism, a reaction is needed against 
its purely negative spirit. There is a truth in the old realism which 
cannot be neglected with impunity.* 

* There are two men at present who boldly fly the flag of the old realism again. 
both having our full sympathy in their aspirations, although we canaot agree with 
many of their teachings. The one is Mr. Charles S. Peirce, the other Dr. Francis 
E. Abbot, 



God (viz., the name of God) is, as Kant said, a noumenon, a 
thing of thought, an abstraction. God is not a thing, a concrete ob- 
ject, or an individual person. All the views of God which regard 
him as an individual being of some kind, or as a person only of in 
finite dimensions, are, closely considered, pagan notions which be* 
little God. But the name of God as a noumenon, a thought, an 
abstract idea, has a meaning. Abstract ideas are not nonentities 
they represent some real features, some actual qualities, or proper- 
ties, or relations ; otherwise they would not be ideas, but unmeaning 

Some of our abstract ideas are of a very delicate fibre, so that 
the coarse mental vision of the average Philistine is unable to see 
them in their reality and potency. But it so happens that exactly 
they are of a more important, more powerful, and inevitable presence 
than the simple generalisations of things that visibly and corporeally 
surround us. This, their peculiar nature, makes such ideas mys- 
terious to those who instinctively feel their reality without being 
able to point it out and understand it. And the most subtle, im- 
ponderous* and sublimated of all ideas is the idea of God. 

We have defined God as the ultimate authority of conduct, as 
the condition of our existence as rational and moral beings, as the 
all-power that enforces obedience, etc. ; but we cannot in any one of 
our definitions exhaust the significance of the idea. We would by 
no means exclude from the idea of God anything without which real- 
ity would cease to be real. The qualities of matter and energy con- 
stitute that element in the God- idea which justify the old religions 
in speaking of him as omnipotent and everlasting. Thus they ought 
not to be excluded. But these qualities alone are insufficient to 
characterise his being. The sum-total of matter and energy as such 
and as such alone does not constitute any moral authority. Nature 
in her immeasurable greatness and oppressive vastness affects us 
with awe ; but, after all, we look down upon her massive sublimity. 
Man is more than the biggest heap of crude matter and unintelli- 
gently operating energy. Says Professor Jodl : 

"We stand amazed at her might and greatness, at the plentitude of her powers 
of creation, at her myriad play of forces, at the mexhaustible wealth of the relatioDs 



with which she biads being to being, creates and mediates contrarieties, and amidst 
the most varied change and alternation* ever remains one and the same ! But our 
prototype, our God, she can never be." 

This grandeur of nature is part of her divinity, but it aJone does 
not constitute the character of God. Yet, observe that throughout 
nature there is an imponderable quality present which makes every 
atom move in a definite way, so that the whirl of gaseous masses* 
apparently a chaos, w^ill be recognised as a cosmic whole developing 
in a certain way and describable in what is generally called natural 
laws. This subtle quality is the condition of the regularities which are 
found in all the infinite varieties and innumerable particularities, 
and all these regularities conceived in their systematic unity are 
called the order of the universe. 

Man exists as a thinking being only because the immeasurable 
universe of which he is a part possesses this quality of order, and 
his reason is closely considered only a copy of it. Man*s reason was 
shaped into the image of the cosmic order, and suppose-^a supposi- 
tion which is very difficult to make and regarded by many as impos- 
sible or inconceivable — yet suppose that the world -order were radi- 
cally different from what it actually is, man's reason would accord- 
ingly be different too. Further, suppose that the whole frame and 
fundamental interrelations of the particles of reality were different 
from what they are, would not correspondingly the basic rules of 
conduct be changed too ? 

The author of this article, io the eyes of tlie so-called orthodox 
Christian, is most certainly an atheist. And if theism means the belief 
in a personal or extramundane God he is an atheist indeed. If there is 
any opprobrium in the name atheism we are willing to accept it ; 
and certainly, we do not reject the label of atheism in order to escape 
any odium attached to that name. We do reject atheism simply be- 
cause we see a great and potent truth in the idea of God which is 
but too often disregarded* 

With Professor Haeckel and Professor Jodl we reject the con- 
ception of an anthropomorphic Deity. The anthropomorphic idol 
is doomed before the tribunal of science. But we see a deeper mean- 
ing in the idea of God which has 'formed through millenniums the 


sntre of the greatest religions on earth. Science has to recog- 
le reality of an all-presence in existence which is analogous to 
hich in a religious language is called God. 
onsidering the fact that humanity owes many great truths to 
n, let us not be hasty in condemning the religions of the past 
e superstition. There are valuable seeds in the chaff. If we 
d the wheat together with the tares, we shall have to redis- 
them, for it is little probable that humanity can for any length 
e be satisfied with beautiful phrases or live in its moral aspira- 
in a realm of mere dreams. 



T EST my title give such offense as to prejudice unduly my con- 
1. tentioo, I may say that I use the term in the way indicated by 
its etymology : as a standing-still on the part of thought ; a cUng- 
ing to old ideas after those ideas have lost their use, and hence, like 
all superstitions, have become obstructions. For I shall try to show 
that the doctrine of necessity is a survival ; that it holds over from 
an earlier and undeveloped period of knowledge ; that as a means of J 
getting out of and beyond that stage it had a certain value, but, 
having done its work, loses its significance. Halting judgment 
may, indeed, at one time have helped itself out of the slough of un- 
certainty, vagueness, and inadequacy on to ground of more solid 
and complete fact, by the use of necessity as a crutch ; once upon 
the ground, the crutch makes progress slower and, preventing the 
full exercise of the natural means of locomotion, tends to paralyse 
science. The former support has become a burden, almost an in- 
tolerable one. 

The beginning of wisdom in the matter of necessity is, I conceive, 
J in realising that it is a term which has bearing or relevancy only 
with reference to the development of judgment, not with reference to 
objective things or events. I do not mean by this that necessity refers 
to the compelling force with which we are driven to make a given 
affirmation : I mean that it refers to the content of that affirmation, 

♦ This article, as the title may indicaLe. was sugge^sted by Mr. Peirce's article 
upon "The Doctrine of Necessity Examined/* As, however, my thought lakes 
finally a different turn, I have deemed it better to let it run its own course from the 
start, and so have not referred, except indirectly, to Mr. Peirce's argument. 1 
hope this will not be taken as a de-sire to slur over my indebtedness to him. 



expressing the degree of coherence between its constituent factors. 
When we say something or other must be so and so, the *'niust'* 
does not indicate anything in the nature of the fact itself, but a trait * 
in our judgment of that fact ; it indicates the degree with which we 
have succeeded in making a whole out of the various elements which 
have to be taken into account in forming the judgment. Morespe- 
cifically* it indicates a half-way stage. At one extreme we have 
two separate judgments, which^ so far as consciousness is concerned^ 
have nothing to do with each other; and at the other extreme we 
have one judgment into which the contents of the two former judg- 
ments have been so thoroughly organised as to lose all semblance of 
separateness. Necessity, as the middle term, is the midwife which, 
from the dying isolation of judgments, delivers the unified judgment 
just coming into life — it being understood that the separateness of the 
original judgments is not as yet quite negated, nor the unity of the 
coming judgment quite attained. The judgment of necessity, in 
other words, is exactly and solely the transition in our knowledge 
from unconnected judgments to a more comprehensive synthesis. 
Its value is just the value of this transition; as negating the old 
partial and isolated judgments — in its backward look — necessity has 
meaning ; in its forward look — with reference to the resulting com- 
pletely organised subject-mattcr— it is itself as false as the isolated 
judgments which it replaces. Its value is in what it rids judgment 
of. When it has succeeded, its value is niL Like any go-between, 
its service consists in rendering itself uncalled for, 

' AU science can ultimately do is to report or describe, to com- 
pletely state, the reality. So far as we reach this standpoint regard- 
ing any fact or group of facts, we do not say that the fact must be 
such and such, but simply that it is such and such. There is no 
necessity attaching to the fact either as whole or as parts. Qua 
whole, the fact simply is what it is ; while the parts, instead of be- 
ing necessitated either by one another or by the whole, are the ana 
lysed factors constituting, in their complete circuit, the whole. In 
stating the whole, we, as of course, state all that enters into it ; if 
we speak of the various elements as makini^ the whole, it is only in 
the sense of making it w/, not hi causing it. The fallacy of the ne- 



cessitarian theory consists in transforming the determinate in the 
sense of the wholly defined, into the detemimed 'in the sense of 
something externally made to be what it is. 

The whole, although first in the order of reality, is last in the 
order of knowledge. The complete statement of the whole is the 
goal, not the beginning of wisdom. We begin, therefore, with frag- 
ments, which are taken for wholes; and it is only by piecing to- 
gether these fragments, and by the transformation of them involved 
in this combination, that we arrive at the real fact. There comes a 
stage at which the recognition of the unity begins to dawn upon us, 
and yet, the tradition of the many distinct wholes survives ; judg- 
ment has to combine these two contradictory conceptions; it does 
so by the theory that the dawning unity is an effect necessarily pro- 
duced by the interaction of the former wholes, ( Only as the con- 
sciousness of the unity grows still more is it seen that instead of a 
group of independent facts, held together by ** necessary" ties, there 
is one reality, of which we have been apprehending various fragments 
in succession and attributing to them a spurious wholeness and inde- 
pendence. We learn (but only at the end ) that instead of discover- 
ing and then connecting together a number of separate realities, we 
have been engaged in the progressive definition of one fact. 

There are certain points upon which there is now /rtff'//V<j/ agree- 
ment among all schools. What one school has got at by a logical 
analysis of science, another school has arrived at by the road of a 
psychological analysis of experience. What one school calls the 
unity of thought and reality, another school calls the relativity of 
knowledge. The metaphysical interpretation further given to these 
respective statements may be quite different, but, so far as they go, 
they come to the same thing : that objects, as kmnoft, are not inde- 
pendent of the process of knowing, but are the content of our judg- 
ments. One school, indeed, may conceive of judgment as a mere 
associative or habitual grouping of sensations, the other as the cor- 
relative diversification and synthesis of the self j but the practical 
outcome, that the ^* object" (anyway as known) is a form of judg- 
ment, is the same. This point being held in common, both schools 
must agree t+iat f/w progress 0/ judgment is eqtdvaient to a change in 



the value of objecis — that objects as they are for us, as known, change 
with the development of our judgments. If this be so, truth, how* 
ever it be metaptiysically defined^ must attach to Jate rather than 
to early judgmentsi 

I am fortunate in being able to quote frotn authors, who may 
be taken as typical of the two schools. Says Professor Caird in his 
article upon ** Metaphysic/' (lately reprinted, ** Essays in Philos- 
ophy and Literature/'): 

*' Otir first consciousness of things is not an immovable foundation upon which 
science may build, but rather a hypothetical and self*contradictory starting-point of 
iDvestigation, which becomes changed and transformed as we advance/" ("Essays," 
Vol n. p, 398.) 

On the other hand, Mn Venn writes (hi the first chapter of his 
*♦ Empirical Logic*') : 

"Select what object we please — the most apparenlly simple in itself, and the 
most definitely parted off from others that we can discover — yel we shall find our- 
selves constrained to admit that a considerable mental process has been passed 
through before that object could be recognised as being an object, that is, as pos- 
sessing some degree of unity and as requiring to be distinguished from other such 

He goes on to illustrate by such an apparently fixed and given 
object as the sun, pointing out how its unity as a persistent thing 
involves a continued synthesis of elements very diverse in time and 
space, and an analysis, a selection, from other elements in very close 
physical juxtaposition* He goes on to raise the question whether a 
dog, for example^ may be said to ** see *' a rainbow at all, because 
of the complex analysis and synthesis involved in such an object. 
The <* mental whole" (to use Mr Venn's words, the ** ideal unity'* 
as others might term it) is so extensive and intricate that 

"One might almost as reasonably expect the dog to 'see" the progress of de- 
mocracy in the place where he lives, of which course of events the ultimate sens- 
ible constituents are accessible to bis observation precisely as they are to ours.'* 

As Mr, Venn is not discussing just the same point which I have 
raised, he does not refer to the partial and tentative character of our 
first judgments^ — our first objects. It is clear enough, however, that 
there will be all degrees between total failure to analyse and com- 


bine (as, say, in the case of the dog and rainbow) and fairly adequate 
grouping, (The difference between the savage Tvhose synthesis is so 
Hmited in scope that he sets up a new sun every day and the scien* 
tific man whose object is a unity comprehending differences through 
thousands of years of time and interactions going on through mil- 
lions of miles of space is a case in point. The distinction between 
the respective objects is not simply a superimposition of new qual- 
ities upon an old object, that old object remaining the same ; it is 
not getting new objects; it is a continual quahtative reconstruction 
of the object itself./ This fact, which is the matter under considera- 
tion, is well stated by Mn Venn, when he goes on to say : 

'The act of predication, in its two-fold aspect of affirmation aBd denial, really 
is a process by which we are not only enabled to add to our information i\hout ob- 
jects* ^«/ is a/sif the procesx hy the cvntinucd performance of whuk the ahjeeis had 
been twiginnlly df quired, cr rather produced^^ (italics are mine). 

This statement cannot be admitted at all without recognising 
that the first judgments do not make the object once for all, but that 
the continued process of judging is a continued process of ^' produc- 
ing " the object. 

Of course the confused and hypothetical character of our first 
objects does not force itself upon us when we are still engaged in 
constructing them. On the contrary, it is only when the original 
subject-matter has been overloaded with various and opposing predi* 
cates that we think of doubting the correctness of our first judg- 
ments, of putting our first objects under suspicion. At the start, 
these objects assert themselves as the baldest and solidest of hard 
facts* The dogmatic and naVve quality of the original judgment is 
in exact proportion to its crudeness and inadequacy. The objects 
which are X\\^ content of these judgments thus come to be identified 
with reality par (xcclUnce \ they are faits^ however doubtful every- 
thing else. They hang on obstinately. New judgments, instead of 
being regarded as better definitions of the actual fact and hence as 
displacing the prior object, are tacked on to the old as best they 
may be. Unless the contradiction is too flagrant, the new predicates 
are set side by side with the old as simply additional information ; 
they do not react into the former qualities. If the contradiction is 




too obvious to be overlooked the new predicate is used, if possible, 
to constitute another object, independent of the former. So the 
savage, having to deal with the apparently incompatible predicates 
of liglit and darkness* makes two objects ; two suns, for two succes- 
sive days. Once the Ptolemaic conception is well rooted, cycles and 
epicycles, almost without end, are superadded, rather than re- 
construct the original object. Here, then, is our starting point : 
when qualities arise so incompatible with the object already formed 
that they cajinot be referred to that object, it is easier to form a new 
object on their basis than it is to doubt the correctness of the old, 
involving as that does the surrender of the o^jci^/ (the fact, seem- 
ingly) and the formation of another object. 

It is easier, I say, for there is no doubt that the reluctance of 
the mind to give up an object once made lies deep in its economies. 
1 shall have occasion hereafter to point out the teleological charac- 
ter of the notions of necessity and chance, but I wish here to call 
attention to the fact that the forming of a number of distinct objects 
has its origin in practical needs of our nature. The analysis and 
synthesis which is first made is that of most practical importance ; 
what is abstracted from the complex net-work of reality is some net 
outcome, some result which is of value for life. As Venn says : 

* ' What the savage mostly wants to do is to produce something or to avert some- 
thttig, not lo account for a thing which has already happened. What interests him 
is to know how to kill somebody, not to know how somebody has been killed/' (P 
6z of "ETOpirical Logic/') 

And again : 

"What mot only the savage, but also the practical man mostly wants, is a^^^vw- 
^r<7/ result, say the death of his enemy. It does not matter whether the symptoms, 
l e., the qualifying circumstances, are those attendant on poison, or a blow from a 
club, or on incantation, provided the death is brought about. But they do desire 
etrtainiy in respect of this general result/' {P. 64.) 

Now it is this ** general result/' the net outcome for practical 
purposes, which is the fact, ihe object at first. Anything else is use- 
less subtlety. That the man is dead — that is the fact ; anything 
further is at most external circumstances which happen to accom- 
pany the fact. That the death is only a bare fraction of a fact; that 



the attendant ** circumstances " are as much constituent factors of 
the real fact as the mere ** death " itself (probably more so from the 
scientific point of view) — all this is foreign to conception. We pluck 
the fruit, and that fruit is the fact. Only when practical experience 
forces upon us the recognition that we cannot get the fruit w^ithout 
heeding certain other *^ conditions'^ do we consent to return upon 
our assumed object, put it under suspicion and question whether it 
is really what we took it to be. It is, we may presume, the savage 
who in order to get his living, has to regulate his conduct for long 
periods, through changes of seasons, in some continuous mode, w^ho 
first makes the synthesis of one sun going through a recurring cycle 
of changes — the year. 

As time goes on, the series of independent and isolated objects 
passes through a gradual change, (just as the recognition of incom- 
patible qualities has led to setting up of separate things, so the 
growing recognition of similar qualities in these disparate objects 
begins to pull them together again. Some relation between the two 
objects is perceived ; it is seen that neither object is just what it is 
in its isolation, but owes some of its meaning to the other objects. 
While in reality, (as 1 hope later to point out,) this '* relationship" 
and mutual dependence means membership in a common whole, 
contribution to one and the same activity, a midway stage intervenes 
before this one fact, including as parts of itself the hitherto separate 
objects, comes to consciousness. The tradition of isolation is too 
strong to give way at the first suggestion of community. This 
passage-way from isolation to unity, denying the former but not ad- 
mitting the latter, is necessity or determinism^ The wall of parti- 
tion between the two separate ** objects" cannot be broken at one 
attack ; they have to be worn away by the attrition arising from 
their slow movement into one another. It is the *' necessary" in- 
fluence which one exerts upon the other that finally rubs away the 
separateness and leaves them revealed as elements of one unified 
whole. This done, the determining influence has gone too. 

\The process may be symbolised as follows : M is the object, the 
original synthesis of the elements seen to be of practical importance ; 
a, ^, ^, etc., to // are predicates of constantly growing incompatibil- 


ity. When the quality / is discovered, it is so manifestly incom- 
patible with a that all attempt to refer it to the same subject J/ is 
resisted. Two alternatives are now logically open. The subject- 
matter A/f as the synthesis of the qualities a — //, may be taken up ; 
it may be asked whether the object is really J/ with these qualities; 
whether it is not rather ^, having instead of the predicates a, b, 
etc., the qualities p«r, p//, with which the new quality / is quite 
compatible. But this process ^^oes against the practical grain of 
our knowledge ; it means not only that we do not know what we 
thought we knew ; it means that we did not Jo what we thought we 
did. Such unsettling of action is hardly to be borne. It is easier 
to erect a new object A', to which the more incompatible predicates 
are referred. Finally, it is discovered that both J/ and iV have the 
same predicates r and s \ that in virtue of this community of quali- 
ties there is a certain like element even in the qualities previously 
considered disparate. This mutual attraction continues until it be- 
comes so nnirked a feature of the case that there is no alternative but 
to suppose that the r and s of one produces these qualities in the 
other, and thereby influences all the qualities of the other. This 
drawing together continues until we have the one reconstructed object 
^, with the traits pcty pfir, etc. It is found that there is one some- 
what comprehensive synthesis which includes within itself the sev- 
eral separate objects so far produced ; and it is found that this in- 
clusion in the larger whole reacts into the meaning of the several 
constituting parts— as parts of one whole, they lose traits which 
they seemed to possess in their isolation, and gain new traits, be- 
cause of their membership in the same whole. 1 

We have now to consider, more in detail, how the intermediate 
idea of necessity grows up and how it gives away upon the discov- 
ery of the one inclusive whole. Let us continue the illustration of 
the killing. The ** general result," the death of the hated enemy» 
is at first the fact; all else is mere accidental circumstance. In- 
deed, the other circumstances at first are hardly that ; they do not 
attract attention, having no importance* Not only the savage, but 
also the common-sense man of to-day, I conceive, would say that 
any attempt to extend the definition of the ** fact " beyond the mere 

bio N I ST. 

occurrence of the death Is metaphysical refinenient ; that the fact is 
the kiHing, the death* and that that **fact" remains quite the same, 
however it is brought about. What has been done, in other words, 
is to abstract part of the real fact, part of M/j death, and set up the 
trail or universal thus abstracted as itself fact, and not only as fact, 
but as the fact, par excelknce^ with reference to which all the factors 
which constitute the reality, the concrete fact, of thts death, are 
circumstantial and *» accidental/' * 

A fragment of the whole reality, of the actual fa<:t individualised 
and specified with all kind of minute detail, having been thus hypos* 
tatised into an object, the idea of necessity is in fair way to arise. 
These deaths in general do not occur. Although the mere death of 
the man, his removal from the face of the earth, is the fact, none 
the less all ffr/j^ti/ deaths have a certain amount of detail in them. 
The savage has to hit his enemy with a club or spear, or perform a 
magic incantation, before he can attain that all-important end of 
getting rid of him. Moreover, a man with a coat of armor on will 
not die just the same w^ay as the man who is defenseless. These 
circumstances have to be taken into account. Now% if the **faGt'* 
had not been so rigidly identified with the bare practical outcome, 
the removal of the hated one« a coherent interpretation of the need 
for these further incidents would be open. It could be admitted that 
the original death was a highly complex affair, involving a synthesis 
of a very large number of different factors ; furthermore, the new 

* The reason of this abstractioti is in practical nature, as already indicated. 
For all the savage ^arcs about it, the death in general, h the real fact. It is all that 
interests him. It is hardly worth while to attempt to persuade the savage ; indeed* 
if he were not only a savage, but also a philosopher, he might boldly challenge the 
objector to present ttny definition of object which should not refer objectivity to 
man's practical activity ; although he raighi. as a shrewd savage, admit thai some 
one activity (or self) to which the object is referred has more content than another. 
In this case, I, for one, should not care about entering the lists against the savage. 
But when the common -sense philosopher, who resists all attempts to reconstruct 
the original object on the ground that a fact is a fact and all beyond that is meta- 
physics, is also a case-hardened nominalist (as he generally is), it is time to protest. 
It might be true that the real object is always relative to the value of some action ; 
but to erect this pure universal into the object, and then pride one's self on enlight- 
enment in rejecting the "scholastic figment" of the reality of universals is a little 
too much. 



cases of murder could be employed to reconstruct the original anal- 
ysis-syn thesis ; to eliminate supposed factors which were not rele- 
vant, and to show the presence of factors at first not suspected. In 
other words, the real fact would be under constant process of defini- 
tion, of ** production/' But the stiff-necked identification of the frag- 
ment .which happened to have practical importance with the real ob- 
ject, effectually prevents any such reaction and reconstruction. What 
is to be done, however, with these conditions of spear, of stone, of 
armor, w^hich so obviously have something fo do w^ith the real fact, 
although, as it would seem, they are not the fact ? They are con- 
sidered as circumstances, accidental^ so far as death in general is con- 
cerned ; necessary, so far as this death is concerned. That is, wvanting 
simply to get the net result of the removal of my enemy, so that he 
will no longer blight the fair face of nature, it is accidental how I do 
it ; but having, after all, to kill a man of certain characteristics and 
surroundings in life, having to choose* time and place, etc., it be- 
comes necessary^ if I am to succeed, that I kill him in a certain way, 
say, with |X)ison, or a dynamite bomb. Thus we get our concrete, 
individua! fact again. 

Consider, then, that tortuous path from reality to reahty, via a cir- 
cuit of unreality, which calls the thought of necessity into existence. 
We first mutilate the actual fact by selecting some portion that ap- 
peals to our needs ; we falsify, by erecting this fragment into the 
whole fact. Having the rest of the fact thus left on our hands for 
disposal, when we have no need of the concrete fact we consider it 
accidental, merely circumstantial ; but we consider it necessary 
whenever we have occasion to descend from the outcome which we 
have abstracted back to the real fact, in all its individuality. Neces- 
sity is a device by which we both conceal from ourselves the unreal 
character of what we have called real, and also get rid of the practi- 
cal evil coji^equences of hypostatising a fragment into an independ- 
ent whole. I 

If the purely teleological character of necessity is not yet evi- 
dent, I think the following considerations will serve to bring it out. 
The practical value, the fruit from the tree, we pick out and set up 
lor the entire fact so far as our past action is concerned. But so far 



as OUT fttttfrf action is concerned^ this value ts a result //? lie reached ; 
it is an end to be attained. Other factors, in reality all the time 
bound up in the one concrete fact or individual whole, have now to 
be brought in as means to get this f^nd. Although after our desire 
has been met they have been eliminated as accidental, as irrelevant , 
yet when the experience is again desired their integral membership 
in the real fact has to be recognised. This is done under the guise 
of considering them as means which are necessary to bring about the 
end. Thus the idea of the circumstances as external t€» the *'fact" 
is retained^ while we get all the practical benefit of their being not 
external hut elements of one and the same whole. Contingent and 
necessary are thus the correlative aspects of one and the same fact ; 
conditions are accidental so far as we have abstracted a fragment 
and set it up as the whole ; they are necessary the moment it is re- 
qiured to pass from this abstraction back to the concrete fact. Both 
are teleological in character-=-contingency referring to the separation 
of means from end» due to the fact that t^ie end having been already 
reached the means have lost their value for us ; necessity being the 
reference of means to an end which has stiii to be got. Necessary 
means fuedcd \ contingency means no longer required^ — because al- 
ready enjoyed. 

Note that the necessit}^ of the means has reference to an end still 
to be attained, and in so far itself hypothetical or contingent, while the 
contingent circumstances are no longer needed precisely because 
they have resulted in a definite outcome (which, accordingly, is now 
a fact, and, in that sense, necessary) and we begin to see how com- 
pletely necessity and chance are bound up with each other. 

\Their correlation may thus be stated : 7/ we are to reach an end 
we must take certain means ; while so far as we want an undefined 
end, an end in general, conditions which accompany it are mere 
accidents. Whichever way the relationship be stated, the imder- 
lying truth is that we are dealing with only partial phases of fact, 
which, having been unduly separated from each other through their 
erection into distinct wholes, have now to be brought back into their 
real unity,) 

In the first place, then, if\ am to reach an end, certain means 




must be used. Here the end is obviously postulated ; save as it is 
begged (presupposed), the necessity of the means has no sense, 
n, when starving, I am to live I must steal a dinner, but, having 
stolen, the logical but unsympathetic judge may question the rele- 
vancy (that is, the necessity) of my end. and thus cut the ground 
out from under the necessity of my means. My end requires ifs 
justification, the establishing of its validity, before the necessity of 
the means is anything more than hypotheticaL The proximate end 
must be referred to a more ultimate and inclusive end to get any 
solid ground, iHere we have our choice : we may deny the existence 
of any organic whole in life and keep chasing in a never-ending se- 
ries, the proi^resstds ad infiniti4HU after an end valid in itself. In this 
case we never get beyond a hypothetical necessity — something is 
necessary i/we are to have something else, the necessity being rela- 
tive to the implied doubt. Or, being convinced that fife is a whole 
and not a series merely, we may say there is one comprehensive end 
which gives its own validity to the lesser ends in so far as they con- 
stitute it. While, on the other alternative, we reach only a hypo- 
thetical necessity, on this we reach none at alK The comprehensive 
end is no end at all in the sense of something by itself to be reached 
by means external to it. Any such end would be simply one in the 
infinite series and would be itself hypothetical. Whenever minor 
ends cease to be in turn means to further ends it is because they 
have become parts, constituent elements, of the higher end and thus 
ceased to be steps towards an end and beyond and outside of them- 
seives. Given a final (i. e., inclusive) end, eating and drinking, study 
and gossip, play and business, cease to be means towards an end 
and become its concrete definition, its analytic content. The minor 
activities state the supreme activity in its specific factors. J 

Our dilemma is the choice between an end which itself has no 
existence save upon presupposition of another end, (is contingent,) 
and an end which as an end in itself simply is, 

Tht! externality of means to end is merely a symptom of lack 
of specification or concreteness in the end itself. Jf\ am going to 
invent some improvement in a type-writer, the necessity of going 
through certain preliminary steps is exactly proportionate to the in- 


definiteness of m_v conception of what the improvement is to be ; 
when the end is reaUsed, the operations which enter into the real- 
isation cease to be means necessary to an end and become the spe- 
cific content of that end. The impro%'ement is a fact^ having such 
and such elements defining it. f If I simply want, in general, to get 
my mail I must take this path (there being but one road) ; but if my 
end is not thus general, if it is individuah'sed with concrete filling, 
the walk to the office may become a part of the end, a part of the 
actual fact. In so far, of course, it loses all aspect of necessitation. 
It simply is.\ And in generaU so far as my end is vague, or abstract, 
so far as it is not specified as to its details, so far the filhng up of 
its empty schema to give it particularity (and thus make it fact) ap- 
pears as a means necessary to reach an end outside itself. The 
growth io concreteness of the end itself is transformed into ways of 
effecting an end already presupposed. Or, to state it in yet one other 
way, determination in the sense of definition in consciousness is 
hypostatised into determination in the sense of a physical making. 
The point may come out more clearly if we consider it with the 
emphasis on chance instead of upon necessity. The usual statement 
that chance is relative to ignorance seems to me to convey the truth 
though not in the sense generally intended — viz., that if we knew 
more about the occurrence we should see it necessitated by its con- 
ditions. Chance is relative to ignorance in the sense rather that it 
refers to an indefiniteness in our conception of what we are doing. 
In our consciousness of our end (our acts) we are always making 
impossible abstractions ; we break off certain phases of the act which 
are of chief interest to us, without any regard to whether the con- 
crete conditions of action — that is, the deed in its whole definition 
— permits any such division. Then, when in our actual doing the 
circumstances to which we have not attended thrust themselves into 
consciousness^ when, that is to say, the act appears in more of its 
own specific nature — we dispose of those events, foreign to our con- 
scious purpose, as accidental ; we did not want them or intend them 
— M'hat more proof of their accidental character is needed ? The 
falling of a stone upon a man's head as he walks under a window is 
** chance,'' for it has nothing to do with what the man proposed to 



do, it is no part of his conception of that walk. To an enemy who 
takes that means of kilHng him, it is anything but an accident, being 
involved in his conscious purpose. It is ** chance" when we throw 
a two and a six ; for the concreteness of the act falls outside of the 
content of our intention. We intended a throw, some throw, and 
in so far the result is not accidental, but this special result, being 
irrelevant to our conception of what we were to do^ in so far is con- 
tingent. The vagueness or lack of determinateness in our end, the 
irrelevancy of actual end to conscious inlcnt» chance, are all names 
for the same thing. And if I am asked whether a gambler w^ho has 
a hundred dollars upon the outcome does not tNtt^nd to throw double 
sixes, I reply that he has no such intention — unless the dree are 
loaded. He may hope to make that throw, but he cannot intend it 
save as he can define that act — teil how to do it, tell, that is, just 
what the act is. Or, once more, if I intend to get my mail and there 
are four paths open to me it is chance which I take, just in propor- 
tion to the abstractness of my end. If I have not defined it beyond 
the mere •* general result*' of getting mail, anything else is extra- 
neous and in so far contingent. If the end is individualised to the 
extent, say, of getting the mail in the shortest possible time, or with 
the maximum of pleasant surroundings, or with the maximum of 
healthy exercise, the indiflerency of the *^ means/' and with it their 
contingency, disappears. This or that path is no longer a mere 
means which may be taken to get a result foreign to its own value ; 
the path is an intrinsic part of the end. 

/in so far as a man presents to himself an end in general, he sets 
up an abstraction so far lacking in detail as (taken per se) to exclude 
the possibility of realisatiou. In order to exist as concrete or indi- 
vidual (and of course, nothing can exist except as individual or con- 
crete) it must be defined or particularised. But so far as conscious- 
ness is concerned the original vague end is ihc reality ; it is all that 
the man cares about and hence constitutes his act. The further par- 
ticularisation of the end, therefore, instead of appearing as wh^t it 
really is, viz., the discovery of the actual reality, presents itself as 
something outside that end. This externality to the end previously 
realised in consciousness is, taken as mere externality', contingency, 



or accident ; taken as none the less so bound up with the desired end 
that it must be gone through before reaching that end, it is neces- 
sary, 'Chance, in other words, stands for the irrelevancy as the mat- 
ter at first presents itself to consciousness ; necessity is the required, 
but partial, negation of this irrelevancy. Let it be complete, in- 
stead of partial, and we have the one real activity defined through- 
out. With reference to this reality, conditions are neithei accidental 
nor necessary, but simply constituting elements — tiiey neither may 
be nor must be, but just are. What is irrelevant is now not simply 
indifferent ; it is excluded, eliminated. What is relevant is no longer 
something required in order to get a result beyond itself ; it is in- 
corporated into the result, it is integral. 

It now remains to connect the two parts of our discussion, the 
logical and the practical consideration of necessity, and show that, 
as suggested J logical necessity rests upon teleological — that, indeed, 
it is the teleological read backwards. The logical process of dis- 
covering and stating the reality of some event simply reverses the 
process which the mind goes through in setting up and realising 
an end. Instead of the killing of an enemy as something to be 
accomplished, we have the fact of a murder to be accounted for. 
Just as on the practical side, the end, as it first arises in conscious- 
ness, is an end in general and thus contrasts with the concrete 
end which is individualised ; so the fact, as at first realised in con- 
sciousness, is a hare fact, and thus contrasts with the actual event 
with its complete particularisation. The actual fact, the murder as 
it really took place, is one thing ; the fact as it stands in conscious- 
ness, the phases of the actual event which are picked out and put 
together, is another thing. The fact of knowledge, it is safe to say, 
is no fact at all ; that is, if there had been in reality no more par- 
ticularisation, no more of detail, than there is consciousnfess, the 
murder would never have happened. But just as, practically, we 
take the end in general to be the real thing, (since it is the only thing 
of any direct interest,) so in knowledge we take the bare fact as ab- 
stracted from the actual whole, as iht fact. Just as the end of the 
savage is merely to kill his enemy, so the ** fact *' is merely the dead 
body with the weapon sticking in it. The fact, as it stands in con- 



sciousness, is indeterminate and partial, but, since it is in conscious- 
aess by itself, it is taken as a whole and as the certain thing. But 
'as the abstractness of the **end in general" is confessed in the fact 
that means are required in order to make it real — to give it exist- 
ence — so the unreal character of the ** fact " is revealed in the state- 
ment that the causes which produced it are unknown and have to be 
discovered* The bare fact thus becomes a result to be accounted 
for: in this conception the two sides are combined ; the ''fact*' is 
at once given a certain reality of its own while at the same time the 
lack of concreteness is recognised in the reference to external causes J 
The gradual introduction of further factors, under the guise of 
causes accounting for the effect, defines the origina! vague *'fact,'* 
until, at last, when it is accounted for, we have before us the one 
and only concrete reality. This done, we no longer have an effect 
to be accounted for, and causes which produce it, but one fact 
whose statement or description is such and such. But interme- 
diate between the isolation and the integration is tlie stage when 
necessity appears. We have advanced, we will suppose, from 
the bare fact of the murder to the discovery of a large amount of 
** circumstantial " evidence regarding that fact. We hear of a man 
who had a quarrel with the deceased; he cannot account for him- 
self at the time when the murder must have been committed ; he is 
found to have had a weapon like that with which the murder must 
have been committed. Finally we conclude he must have been the 
murderer. What do these "musts*' (the **must " of the time, weapon, 
and murderer) mean ? Are they not obviously the gradual filling- 
in of the previously empty judgment, through bringing things at 
first unconnected into relation with each other? The existence of 
the man M. N, is wholly isolated from the **fact " of the murder till 
it is learned that he had a grudge against the murdered man ; ihis 
third fact, also distinct per S(\ brought into connection with the 
others (the '*fact" of the murder and of the existence of M, N.) 
compels them to move together; the result is at first the possibility, 
later, as the points of connection get more and more marked and 
numerous, the ** necessity,*' that M- N. is the murderer. Further, it 
is clear that this **must " marks not a greater certainty or actuality 



ihan a mere ^*is*' would indicate, but rather a doubt, a surmise or 
guess gradually gaining in certainty. When the fact is really made 
out to our satisfaction, we drop the **niust" and fall back on the 
simple ts. Only so long as there is room for doubt, and thus for 
argument do we state that the time and weapon must have been 
such and such- So when we finally conclude that the murderer 
must have been M. N., it means that we have woven a large number 
of facts, previously discrete, into such a state of inter-relationship 
that we do not see how to avoid denying their discreteness and in- 
corporating them all into one concrete whole, or individual fact. 
That we still say **must" shows, however, that we have not quite 
succeeded in overcoming the partial and indefinite character of the 
original **fact/* iHad we succeeded in getting the whole fact be* 
fore us the judgment would take this form r The murder is a fact of 
such and such definite nature, having as its content such and such 
precise elements. In this comprehensive whole all distinction of 
effect to be accoimted for and causes which produce clean disap- 
pears. The idea of necessity, in a word, comes in only while we are 
still engaged in correcting our original error, but have not surren- 
dered it root and branch ; this error being that the fragment of real- 
ity which we grasp is concrete enough to warrant the appellation 
**fact," I 

A great deal of attention has been directed to the category of 
cause and effect. One striking feature of the ordinary considera- 
tion is, that it takes for granted the matter most needing investiga- 
tion and aims the inquiry at the dependent member of the firm. 
The effect seems to be so clearly M^/r, while the cause is so ob- 
viously something to be searched for that the category of effect is 
assumed, and it is supposed that only the idea of causation is in 
need of examination. And yet this abstraction of certain phases of 
fact, the erection of the parts thus abstracted into distinct entities, 
which, though distinct, are still dependent in their mode of exist- 
ence, is precisely the point needing examination. It is but another 
instance of the supreme importance of our practical interests. The 
effect is the end, the practical outcome, which interests us ; the 
search for causes is but the search for the means which would pro- 




diice the result. We call it ** means and end** when we set up a 
result to be reached in the future and set ourselves upon finding the 
causes which put the desired end in our hands; we call it ♦* cause 
and effect*' when the ''result'' is given, and the search for means is 
a regressive one. In either case the separation of one side from the 
other, of cause from effect, of means from end, has the same origin : 
a partial and vague idea of the whole fact, together with the habit 
of taking this part (because of its superior practical importance) for 
a whole, for a fact. 

1 hope now to have made good my original thesis : that the 
dea of necessity marks a certain stage in the development of judg- 
ment ; that it refers to a residuum, in our judgments and thus in 
our objects, of indeterminateness or vagueness, which it replaces 
without wholly negating; that it is thus relative to *'chance"or 
contingency ; that its vahje consists wholly in the impulse given 
judgment towards the />, or the concrete reality defined throughout 
The analysis has been long ; the reader may have found it not only 
tedious, but seemingly superfluous, since, as he may be saying to 
himself, no one nowadays regards necessity as anything but a name 
for fixed uniformities in nature, and of this view of the case nothing 
has been said, I hope, however, that when we come to a consider- 
ation of necessity as equivalent to uniformity, it will be found that 
the course of this discussion has not been irrelevant, but the sure 
basis for going further. 

John Dewey. 


IN a late number of The Mtmist^ (Vol. II, No. 4,) there appears a 
singularly acute and profound article, from the pen of one of 
the ablest of American logicians and mathematicians, Mr. Charles 
S, Peirce. Its subject is '*The Law of Mind " — the idea of contin- 
uity. The writer tells us» ( p. 53+,) *'the tendency to regard con- 
tinuity, in the sense in which I shall define it, as an idea of prime 
importance in philosophy, may conveniently be termed Synerh' 
ism.'' With this syntchistk philosoiihy, as applied to mind, the 
paper is occupied, to the exclusion, for the nonce, of Mr Peirce's 
companion doctrine of Tychism^^ which was dealt with, l>y him, in 
the January, 1891, and April, 1892, issues of The Monist, These 
conceptions are, both of them, to be viewed as essential to philos- 
ophy as a whole, but the latter is, for the present, allowed to drop 
out of sight, in order to allow of the due elaboration of the former.f 


The formula of Synechism, with %vhich the article begins, is as 
follows : 

*• Logical analysis applied to meotal phenomeoa shows thai there is but one 
law of mind, oamely, that ideas teud to spread continuously, and to affect certain 
others which stand to them in a peculiar relation of affectibility. In this spreading 
they lose inteasity, and especially the power of affecting others, but gain general- 
ity, and become welded with other ideas." (Vol. IL No. 4. p. 534.) 

The individuality and continuity of ideas are, then, shown re- 
spectively to involve no contradiction ; an idea once past— in the 

* From r^xn. chance. 

\ Tychism again comes to the front in the succeeding number of Th^ Monist^ 
( Vol, III* No. I,) in an article by Mr Peirce. entitled *' Mao's Glassy Essence.'* 



sense of an event in an individual consciousness^ — is not wholly past, 
it is only going— "infinitesimally past, less past than any assignable 
past date/* Thus the conclusion is reachetj that **the present is 
connected with the past by a series of real, infinitesimal steps." 
Again, **We are forced to say that we are immediately conscious 
through an infinitesimal interval of time. This is all that is requi- 
site. '* {INit, pp. 535-536.) 

All that it is necessary to say at the outset is, that this view is 
supported by an elaborate inquiry into the nature of infinity and 
continuity in general, into which, for the purpose of the present pa- 
per, it is not needful to enter. And this for two reasons : (i ) The 
synechistic philosophy, by itself » does not profess to be monistic^ Its 
expounder does not, even if his Tychism were not in reserve, pro- 
fess to carry it beyond the realm of mind, with all that is implied in 
such a reservation. Now, it is the bearing of Mr. Peirce's Synechisra 
upon a monistic solution of the universe with which the present 
article is concerned. And (2) Mr, Peirce's method of treatment, 
though precise and logical in the direction of its own path, is too 
purely technical to be summarised for the general reader's benefit. 
But withal, Synechism is far too fertile, not so much in respect of 
what it makes clear, as suggestively, and, if the expression may be 
allowed » obliqNci\\ to be passed over without comment. Its excogi- 
tator is eminently frank ; he does not conceal the difficulties which, 
ever and anon, occur in his statement Sometimes his theory seems 
a trifle too wide for the facts encountered, sometimes rather too 
scanty to contain them. Such phrases as the following \ ** No, I 
think we can only hold" — p. 552 ; ** we are driven to perceive" — 
P- 555; *'ihis obliges me to say *'— p. 557: "the principle with 
which I set out requires me to maintain '* — p, 558 ; **the only an- 
swer that I can, at present, make is" — p. 559, etc., etc., do every 
credit to the writer's candor, but they would scarcely occur in an 
exposition, which, in the mind of its author, made the rough places 
altogether plain. Synechism, even with Tychism in the background, 
probably does not, in Mn Peirce*s own mind, completely solve the 
world-riddle, at least, as yet. Stiil these very pauses themselves, 
on the part of a thinkt^r of such ability, are eminently suggestive. 



To use his own words t *• the present paper is intended to show wha 
Synechism is, and what it leads to,'' Let us emphasise this latter 
clause, as likely to be more fruitful than the former. 


Mn Peirce^ in spite of his theory of chance, is, in his Synechism, 
almost severely a positivist ;* but his positivism, like most of that 
current nowadays, does not go deep enough. He is positivist, a/trrhe 
has got externality— fertile in excitations — comfortably disposed 
around his subject; and vibrations, undulations, attractions, etc., 
ready to play upon the thousand-stringed harp, /^/// hp/ bt*for€. For, 
**we must not tax introspection,*' he tells us, p. 548, **to make a phe- 
nomenon manifest, which essentially involves externality," when the 
real problem at issue is : is there externality, in the vulgar sense, at 
all, or is it only Xh^X rationalised externally wi\\zh circitmspcction, within 
the limits of egoity, reveals ? Now, upon this a good deal hinges. 
At all events the difference in question, or, rather, that there is a 
difference, has been mooted, to say the least. And, this being the 
case, it is a little tedious, when the really vital point of the spatial 
extension of feelings is being debated, to have this illustration 
brought in, f p. 54B/): ^-^ Moreover, our own feelings are focused in 
attention to such a degree, that we are not aware that ideas are not 
brought to an absolute unity. Just as nobody, not instructed by 
special experiment, has any idea how very, very little of the field of 
vision is distinct." Why, that is reasoning in a circle, if some sys- 
tems are true ; and it is a begging of the question, if they are the 

If the system of so-called objective reality were, at sight, wholJy 
veracious, if everything existed just as it seems, this positivism of 
Mr. Peirce's might be workable. Then no one would seek to go 
beneath the process of the apparent, the actually visible, for a ra- 
titmale. But modern science teaches, in its very primer, that many 
things are, and act, quite otherwise than as they seem to be, and 
do. Appearances rationalised are alone to be accepted. The sun 

* Dr. Cams, in his review of Mr. Peirce's doctrines, ( llie Ahmist, VoL II, No. 
4, p. 575 J notes this positivistic-construclionism. 


does not '* rise " and **set," as it seems to do. The earth is not, as 


to be, 



mmovaDle plane, and so on. And, this once 
allowed* where is the principle to end ? If the superficial judgment 
may be thus corrected, or reversed, it is liable to revision or 
reversal ad infifuium^ unless reason be shown to the contrary. It 
may thus be disputed whether our author is quite in order in writ- 
ing, as he does, and using^ the statement to support his theory — 
*^ Precisely how primary sensations, as colors and tones, are ex- 
cited, we cannot tell, in the present state of psychology. ... As far 
as sight and hearing are in question, we know that they are only 
excited by vibrations of inconceivable complexity; and the chem- 
ical senses are probably not more simple.'^ (P, 557.) 

To argue, we cannot tell precisely how they are excited, but we 
know that they are excited, is somewhat feminine ; seeing that the 
said '^excitement*' is not patent on the surface of ordinary perception. 
And, this being the case, the excitement, or its mode rather, not 
being given immediately, but only mentally annexed, Mr. Peirce is 
not consistently positivist. It is equally open to an opponent to *' an- 
nex '* something else of his own to the ♦^ given** thing, or altogether 
to deny the necessity of anything whatever being thus annexed. In 
any case that ( if anything ) which is sought to be annexed must 
stand the test of positivism ; we must know // such a thing is, and 
what it is precisely. And this is just what Mr, Peirce cannot do 
for us. He cannot tell us exactly what the ** excitant" of feelings 
is; he can only guess what it is ^'somet/ung iike,'* viz. i the feelings 
themselves. Hence the following t 

**Tbe principle with which I set out [that of continuity 1 requires me lo malU' 
tain that these feelings are communicated to the aerv^ by continuity, so that thcrg 
must h something liktr them in the i^xcitants themstlves. If this seems extravagant, 
it is to be remembered that it is the sole possible way of reaching any explanation 
of sensation, which otherwise must be pronounced a general fact absolvitely inex- 
plicable and ultimate. Now absolute inexplicability is a hypothesis which sound 
logic refuses, under any circumstances^ to justify." (P. 558, — The italics are not 
in the original.) 

There must be something like the feelings in the excitants of 
the feelings. Now, this point is worthy of the closest attention. 
Note that ** the excitant " alom is mentioned. Vihratiom excite sight 



and hearing. Yet, from what -ollows, it is plain that Synechism is 
not inconsistent with bciief in a fixed objective. *'Even the least 
psychical of peripheral sensationSj that of pressure, has, in its ex- 
citation, conditions which, though apparently simple, are seen to 
be complicated enough when we consider the moUcuies and their at- 
tractwnsy'' pp, 557-55S. Can there, then, be any doubt that we have 
J three distinct things : (i) a subjective, (2) an **excitant," and 
^ zn objective ; the middle term beinj^f a vehicle of communication 
- w^een the first and third ? U d( - : lot affect this presentation of 
Mr. i jirce's position that, at an earlier stage of his argument, he 
speaks of matter — synonymous* presumably, with the objective — as 
being ^*not completely dead, but merely mind, hide-bound with 
habits,'* as ** partially deadened" or "effete," mind; or that the 
editor of The Monist says that, with Mr. Peirce, *Miiind is the be- 
ginning of alb" {The Monist, Voh III, No. i, p. 95,) The ques- 
tion, at present, is not regarding origins, but regarding co-existences. 
So that there is a distinct hiatus here, arising from the confusion of 
the stimulant, or excitant, of sensation with the objective itself.* 
Now, the stiraulant of sensation is never the object perceived. 
Hence, once an objective is admitted, a trinity of entities is unavoid- 
able, since still less can the ** stimulant '' be the subject. This spe- 
cial difficulty, in the present writer's opinion, is inseparable from 
duahsm in every form. How it besets Mr. Peirce's theor)' is evi- 
dent from his hazarded suggestion : "There must be stmtethittg like 
the feelings in the excitants." He thus uses only two of his cosmical 
terms, and gives the third the go-by ! All duahsm halts, but surely 
there is here a palpable stumble. 

In a recent article in The Open Court f I have pointed out the 
vanity of introducing a vehicle of communication between object 
and subject, especially emphasising the fact that, once this inter- 
mediate term is brought in, the veritable objective disappears. 
"Once you bring in vibrations,'* I remarked, "you practicaliy pro- 
vide a second object, which is really a part of the subject, and, in 

♦Cf. T. H. Green, ProUgomma io lithia, Cb. II, p. 63. 

f Nos. 258, 59, 61, August, 1B92. Miss NnJfft^s Uartd-St^^mt, 



order to do this, you have taken from the original objective all that 
composed it/'* {The Open Courts p, 3561.) 

Is it any wonder, then, that Mr. Peirce should suppose the ex- 
citants to be ** something like *' the excited feelings ? Since he, prac- 
tically, surrenders the objective, what could more closely resemble 
the subjective than the subjective itself ? If he had adopted the posi- 
tion of Hume, and made impressions and ideas all-in-all, his prin- 
ciple of continuity might hold. But this he does not do, since (t) 
he implicity admits the objective element, and (2) even if he did 
not do this, there must be something other than the idea or feeling 
in his system, since, otherwise, there could be no ground for the 
charge of seeming ** extravagance," which, he admits, may be lev- 
eled against, at least one of, his conclusions. 


This leads us to Mr. Peirce's conclusions regarding subjective 
spatial extension — ^the spatial extension of feelings — as the result of 
observation of irritated protoplasm. Our attention is directed to an 
excited mass of protoplasm, — an amceba, or a slime-mould, — which 
**does not differ in any radical way from the contents of a nerve- 
cell, though its functions ma}- be less specialised.** (P. 547.) The 
irritation is induced when, say, the amoeba is ** quiescent and rigid," 
and we note its behaviour under it. That feeling passes from one 
part of this amorphous continuum of protoplasm to another, we are 
led to believe. And this conclusion follows: "Whatever tliere is 
in the whole phenomenon to make us think there is feeling in such 
a mass of protoplasm, — feeling, but plainly no personaiiiy^ — goes 
logically to show that that feeling has a subjective, or substantial. 

* In a note to this passage was appended a quotation from a pamphlet by Dr, 
E, Cobham Brewer as a practical instance of ihe objective being, on the antiquated 
subject- object plane, actually superseded. Suppose a very remote star to become 
extinct, the "vibrations** would continue to " travel " towards a spectator situated 
on our planet for years, it may be for centuries. So that the spectator, ultimately, 
"sees" that which does not even exist. Dr, Brewer's comment, which cannot be 
considered any contribution to a satisfactory rofiotta/^, is : " the objects, however, 
must have existed, or no messenger could have been sent from their courts," Evi- 
dently, in this case, that which is sent is, at least, as good as the sender — is, in fact, 
the self-same thing. Only, in that case, what of^the extinct object ? 



spatial extension, as the excited state has.** This is a chain of rea- 
soning* Let us examine its links. We have : 

(i) The behaviour of the amoeba under immediate, mechanical 
irritation— the spread^ or spatial extension, of the state of irritation, 

(2) We are asked to identify this spread-out irritation, this field 
of excitation, with ** feeling" on the part of the aniceba, because 
there is **no doubt that it feels when it is excited.*' 

(3 J From the spatial extension of the irritation, thus identified 
with feeling, we are asked to conclude that the feeling, in the 
amoeba, has a subjective, spatial extension as the excited state has, 
and, hnally, passing from the feeling of the amoeba to our own feel- 
ings, by inference, we are asked to admit ; 

(4) Not that we have necessarily a feeling of bigness, but that 
*' the feeling [inferentially arrived at from the spread-out irritation 
on the part of the amceba] as a subject of inhesion is big,** (P, 548,) 

After this, we are disposed to agree with Mr. Peirce when he 
says: **This is, no doubt, a difficult idea to seize"; not, as he goes 
on to say, **for the reason that it is a subjective^ not an objective, 
extension,'* but on the ground that the reasoning involves, plainly, 
not only the subjective and objective, but what Clifford calls the 
**ejective," as well, and this assumption, tnttv alia, that the last- 
named lies on the same plane as the former. Never, surely, was 
the conchision that feelings have spatial extension more easily 
reached. It is only when we find that in (i) we are dealing with 
the objective pure and simple, observed phenomena; that in (2) the 
connection between irritation or excitation, and feeling is assumed, 
in the object, because feeling, subjectively, is found to accompany 
irritation ; that (3) as the irritation, In the amoeba, is spread out, so 
is the feeling to be viewed ; and (4) that, as the feeling of the 
amoeba, so is our feeling to be considered, viz. : that the feeling, **as 
a subject of inhesion, is big/' we are led to say after all this, that, 
by such a process, anything, or everything, could be demonstrated, 
— the^r/// of spatial extension, for e^tample, having no more claim to 
be assumed than the point at which the irritation admittedly begins. 
Why should the middie stage of the irritation be selected in prefer- 
ence to the initial and final ones ? The irritation originates in a 



point, spreads, and then dies out. Thus our feeh'ng, (we purposely 
use Mr. Peirce's nomenclature,) or idea, ol an elephant, is unques- 
tionably, as a subject of inhesion, **big/" Btd vnly for a time, ami 
not at first. Really, our idea, or feeling — \tv Synechism^of an ele- 
phant, must logically commence as a minute speck, and return to 
this vanishing-point again. There is no other way out of it. For 
must not the analogy of the irritated amoeba be followed through- 
out, anti if not, why not? 


The crtix of philosophy, from the time of Hume to the present 
day, has been, what may be summarised as, the consciousness of 
succession as succession. The hours pass over the mental dial, but, 
though one succeeds the other, something is needed besides the 
succession of the terms of the series to give consciousness of the se- 
ries as a series, to give the synthesis of the day made up of hours. 
Hume virtually gave up the problem in eviscerating the subjective. 
Prof. T. H, Green only missed the point at issue when he placed 
his eternal consciousness, which was to ** have and to hold" the 
terms of the cosmical series, as it were in solution, for the human 
organism, out of time aiieget/ier. Mr. Peirce puts the matter boldly 
when he says : ♦*An idea once past is gone forever, [in the sense of an 
event in an individual consciousness,] and any supposed recurrence 
of it is another idea/' ( P. 534/) In order, then, that an idea past 
may be present really, and not vicariously, the notion that con- 
sciousness necessarily occupies an interval of (finite) time must be 
given up ; since» to put it briefly, a second past is as much past as 
a yean According to Mn Peirce then, and his contention is sup- 
ported by an elaborate inquiry into the nature of infinity and con- 
tinuity generally, *'we are immediately conscious through an in- 
finitesimal interval of time.'' For the complete rationale^ reference 
must necessarily be made to the article itself. 

Even the above outline, how^ever, is sufficient to show* that, here 
as elsewhere, Mn Peirce's dualism is his snare. Nothing hut this 
could lead to a disintegration so complete as the following : 

" In this mfinitesimal iniervaK not only is consciousness con tiouous in a sub- 
jective %nse. that is, considered as a subject, or substance, having the aUribute of 



duration : but also, because it is immediate consciousness, its object is //xo f^rta 
continuous/' ( P 53^> ) 

This is to admit, practically^ that there is something in con- 
sciousness other than the consciousness itself. And this is evident, 
because at one and the same time, (whether an interval of finite 
time, or an inhnitesimaJ interval, — whether an ** instant*' or a ''mo- 
ment,*'— does not matter,) these two entities are different. For : 

'This mediate perception is objectively, or as to the object represented, spre^ 
over the four instants; but subjectively, or as itself the subject of duration, it is 
completely embraced in the second moment/* {INd.) 

But this <* mediate " and '' immediate *' cannot simultaneously 
exist, unless there is something else io which they do so exist. It is 
only paltering with us in a double sense to speak of ** instant" and 
*' moment" in this connection. The one may pass into the other, 
but there is *'a time when'* (it matters not whether the interval be 
finite or infinitesimal) they do not coexist* Hence, they are not the 
same, but different 

According to Mr. Peirce's notation, for all ordinary purposes 
we may write, if a is a finite quantity, and /an infinitesimal, (iH-/=a. 
**That is to say» this is so for all purposes of measurement*' Be it 
so ; the mfinitesimal may be neglected for purposes of calculation. 
But such a formula can only be experimental. The theory wliich 
embodies it cannot avail for a world-scheme ; to admit it would be 
to grant that a thing is, and is not, at one and the same time. 
Surely the most superficial reader will see that, to put it popularly, 
a world-scheme admits of no alternative subject to accept, or to 
reject, a neglect a hie quantity. 

And this is not the only instance of dualism in Mr. Peirce*s 
world-scheme as a totality*. For have we not Synechism and Tychism 
as well ? With the latter Mr. Peirce does not deal in the paper now 
under consideration. He must, however, be credited, or debited, 
with it, as held in reserve. For our present purpose it is not neces- 
sary to examine Tychism in detail. Its alleged existence is sufficient. 
For, and here let the significance of what follows be noted, in Mr. 
Peirce's view, as opposed to determinism, Tychism exists as a prin- 
ciple. It />, otherwise it could not he expounded as operative. But 



it also exists as an idea, first, it may be, in our author's mind, and 
subsequently in the minds of his disciples. Thus it falls into the 
synechistic province : **As an idea it can only be affected by an 
idea, by anything but an idea it cannot be affected at aJ!.*' (**The 
Law of Mind," p. 557.) Yet to affirm Tychism thus impotent, be* 
cause unaffectibie, outside the synechistic sphere^ is to contradict 
Mr- Peirce's conclusions^ for if Tychism is nothing outside the ideal 
realm, it is altogether inside it. Hence Synechism is everything 
practically, and Tychism nothing. But that Mr. Pejrce will not 
have. He has a two -fold Tychism, that is the fact ; actual and 
operative on the one hand, ideal on the other And this is dualism 

Mr. Peirce^s method is quite fertile in duplication of the sub- 
jective entity. His latest paper, ** Man's Glassy Essence,** (Z^/r 
Mcmist, Vol. ill J No. i,) contains some typical instances. 

''Viewing a thing from the outside, considering its relations of action and re- 
action with other things, it appears as matter. Viewing it from the inside, looking 
at its immediate character as feeling, it appears as consciousness *" {P. 20.) 

This is the strictly empirical view. And it may be possibly 
defended with the contention that all problems, to be duly exam- 
ined, must, in the first place, be viewed from that standpoint. But 
it must be plainly manifest to any unprejudiced thinker that, even 
granted a total cosmical problem made up of separate problems of 
an individual nature, the same method of solving the sum cannot be 
employed which is used in solving its constituents. In the above in- 
stance, considering matter in its totality, and consciousness in its 
totality, what is left to view them indifferently from ** outside/* or 
•* inside*'? Plainly nothing. Still more transparent an example is 
the following : 

**The consciousness of a habit involves a general idea. In each action of thai 
habit certain atoms get thrown out of their orbit, and replaced by others. Upon 
all the different occasions it is different atoms that are thrown of!, but thi-y are 
analogous from a physical point of view, and there is on inward sense of their lieing 
analogous. Every time one of the associated feelings recurs, there is a more or less 
vague sense that there are others, that it has a general character , and of about what 
this general character is " (P. 20.) 



This is part of the answer to the query : How do general ideas 
appear in the molecular theory of protoplasm ? Now^ without dis- 
cussing the value of this raiionaic, as affecting Mr. Peirce's own 
theories, it is not difficult to see what its acceptance would **lead 
to/' Certain atoms of a molecule get thrown out and are replaced 
by others. This happens repeatedly. On different occasions differ- 
ent atoms come and go. Yet they are ** analogous/* and there is ** an 
inward sense'' of this. Upon whose shoulders is the burden of 
proving the analogy placed, or of experiencing it even ? With whom 
or what is there **an inward sense"? Perhaps it is better not to an- 
swer otherwise than to say that if this faculty be not present in the 
ever changing molecule to begin with, it cannot be logically reached 
by any process of multiplying it. 


Monism, as a unitary system of the universe, does not neces- 
sarily commend itself to acceptance simply as monism. To say, 
this is dualism, therefore it cannot be a correct rationale of the uni- 
verse, since the only true one must be monistic, is to start with 
an unphiiosophical prepossession. The true solution may be two- 
fold, or it may be manifold. But it is not too much to say, per- 
haps, on the other hand, that, even as causes may not be multiplied 
without necessity, even so phenomena must not logically be divided 
into independent groupings without sufficient reason given. Prefer- 
ence should be accorded to a monistic, rather than to a dualislic, 
system, not on the ground alone of the simplicity of the former, but 
on the ground that a theory which has one explanation for one set 
of phenomena and another explanation for a second set, must first 
demonstrate that a unitary conception of the universe is, at least, 
improbable, otherwise it will alwaj^s be hinted that the dualism in 
question has not gone deep enough to find a synthetic bond where- 
with to unite the apparently diverse. Mr. Peirce, throughout his 1 
article on Synechism, constantly touches, despite his latent dualism, 
the margin of a truth so great as to merit the title of transcendent. 
As often he misses it. And his concluding words are, in this con- 
nection, almost wistful : **The facts that stand before our face and 



eyes and stare us in the face, are far from being, in all cases, the 
ones most easily discerned. That has been remarked from time 
immemorial/' (P. 559-) But though thus *♦ remarked/' the maxim 
has, as immemorial ly, been neglected in practice. To none can 
this remark be more fitly applied than to the excogitator of Synech- 
ism, himself seeing that, having arrived at the point of asserting that 
** there must be something like the feelings in the excitants them- 
selves/' he does not see that the excitant and the feeling are one and 
the same ; and that there is no second or third term in the cosmical 

Does this seem ** extravagant'? If so, the reply must be not 
that it is the only escape from an otherwise inexplicable difficulty, 
but that there is really no difficulty at all. What Mr. Peirce's own 
Synechism ^' leads to'' is that the past, the present, and the to-come, 
alike of matter and idea, are not reconciled by **time and its flow," 
or even by the logic of infinitesimals, subtle though that may be, 
but that the contents of each and all, with all their apparently in- 
finite variety, resolve into a consistent unity. 


Pushed to a logical conchision, the excitants and the feelings 
owe their apparent variety to their assigned position in a series, the 
correspondence or relation between them being only another link in 
the self-same chain. Vulgar realism never fathoms this explanation. 
It always harps upon the one string that idealism, and more espe- 
cially idealistic monism, fails to account for variety or difference ; 
forgetting, or rather never seeing, that difference or variety which is 
its essence, is only one more added perception on the same plane 
with ordinary perceptions ; so that given a, h, c, d, — sundry percep- 
tions,^ — their essential variety may be stated as e. Or this may be 
stated numerically ; variety, as a whole, being nothing more than 
the sum of differences, which is always something other than the 
terms differentiated, but always on the same level with them^ — the 
difference between any continuous number, above unity, and another 
lumber being a third number, which is different from either. Varl- 
ty in numbers cannot l>e expressed otherwise than numerically- 



So, in the last recess, the variety of colors is only colorable, of tones 
audible, and so on. The ^Hn'brations of inconceivable complexity ** 
which* according to Mn Peirce, "excite sight and hearing," can be 
approximately stated numerically, so that the difference between 
red andj say, yellow, is a number corresponding to another color, 
which may be orange or not ; it being part of the present scientific j 
theory of light that any specific number of ethereal undulations j 
happening between the colors of the ocular spectrum, corresponds 
to a possible color, although the retinal expanse may be insensible 
to these particular rates of tremor. To Mr. Peirce it may appear 
'* extravagant/' but the difference between any two colors and tones 
is another color, another tone ; just as the difference between any two 
numbers is a third number. This is the logical outcome of his own 
Synechism ; fhis^ in part, is what it * Meads to." 


Excitants and feelings being unified, and the element of variety, 
hitherto supposed to be the exclusive copyright of vulgar realism, 
shnwn to be nothing but another term added to the series, or, numer- 
ically, a concurrent series — ^so that should «, ^, r, // . . , be a series, 
the variety of the series may be expressed as ^, or the individual 
differences as/, g, h. . . — it only needs an examination of what Mn 
Peirce terms *' time and its flow/* to render his system a completely 
monistic one, and this although true monism is much more than the 
negation of determinism, synechistically expressed. 

In Mr. Peirce's article under examination, ** The Law of Mind,*' 
t!ie notation of infinitesimals, which forms the keystone of Synechism, 
is only introduced after a lament over the incapacity, or unwork- 
ableness rather, of finite time, when the duration of consciousness 
is involved. \i finiic time is to come in as a factor — **an idea once 
past [in the sense of an event in an individual consciousness] is 
gone forever, and any supposed recurrence of it is another idea" 
(p. 534). And the problem which Mr. Peirce sets himself to solve 
is how in effect to bring buik this past idea — not vicariously — but in 
ail its pristine freshness, into the now-time. This is sought to be 
accomplished by the explanation that the past idea is ''not wholly 



past, it is only going, less past than any assignable past date " — ^and 
so on through the intricacies of Mr. Peirce's infinitesimal theor>\ 
into which we need not enter at present. But the statement of the. 
supposed* difficulty which finite time presents in this connection,— 
the past idea really past and gone, and the recurrence of it another 
idea, — if put in a slightly different form, hints a solution, in contin- 
uity with the foregoing pages, without the aid of the infinitesimal at 
all. That an idea is once past and gone ^ any occurrence, or recurrence^ 
of this idea, is another idea. * 

But, in the meantime, let US see what Mr. Peirce has to say re- 
garding **time and its flow'* : 

•'One of the most marked features about ihe law of mind is. that it makes time 
to have a defiaite direction of flow from past to future, The relation^of past to fu- 
ture IS, in reference to the law of mind, different from the relation of future to past 
This makes one of the great contrasts between the law of mind and the law of phys- 
ical force, where there is no more distinction between the two opposite directions in 
time than between moving northward, and moving southward" (p. 546). 

This for once is not very clear. It is difficult to see how ''the 
law of physicaJ force " can be spoken of as ** in time/' to the exclu- 
sion of mind ; not easy, also, to understand the distinction further 
insisted upon. But the intention is evident, viz., to perpetuate, if 
not to originate, a cosmical duality. Time, it would seem, marches 
indifferently in at least two directions, though it is not very clear 
how this is accomplished. And then the old fiction follows, that 
**Time, as the universal form of change, cannot exist unless there 
is something to undergo change, etc. *' (p. 547.) 

The same notation suits in this case as in the foregoing. Time 
is only another term in the series. I f rf, <^, r, // be a series, e is the 
variety, / the whole time involved, and ^ the individual intervals. 
Of course all this is not a simple series, it is an infinitel}' complicated 
one ; the above arrangement is only intended to show that differ- 
ence, variety, time, etc., are no mysterious entities pervading events, 
acting as their '* form '' or carrying them in their ** flow,*' but simply 
percepts, or concepts, on a level with others. 

* Or to put it in another form^ any one idea, and the timing of this idea are 
really two ideas, although, as we shall see later, they may be inseparable in pnicitce. 



This is not patent on the surface, It may be. Time has the ap- 
pearance of a current in which events float. But this is an illusion 
dispelled by examination. E%'ents cannot be submerged in time. 
Time cannot be the vehicle of events. It is impossible to conceive 
time as existing simultaneously with an event. It always follows it. 
What to Mr. Peirce appears as a *^f^ow, " arises from the foregoing. 
Take events, percepts, or concepts, as a hypothetical series, a^ fi, <', 

d and their times as a\ h\ c\ if\ , , » the first series contains 

the event /^r se^ or as happening \ the ^* time when " is contained in 
the second series, practically inseparable from the first, but the time 
when necessarily follows — consequently if the first be a, the second 
must be, at least a\ But no concept or percept is abstract* except 
the concept time itself, which, being unconnected, stu-ws anywhere, 
and, like its fellows-abstract space, is spread out, to us, tri-dimen- 
sionally, as past, present, and to come. And, as in space the posi- 
tion is simply spectral,* a question of perspective or adjustment, sd» 
in time, the tlmal series is adjusted to the substantive idea. But 
this twofold spectral succession breeds by comparative intensity 
(which is another complex series) the sense of a flow, where tliere is 
none, but only the idea of a flowing, which is another matter. Thus, 
the so-called ** veil of the future " is no more a veil than it is a brick- 
bat. It is simply the indeterminateness of an unconnected adjective 
— as if one should say, white — and the query arises, H'7ia^ is it that 
is white? When the noun is supplied you have something definite. 
Just so, when the future lapses into the present. 

Thus there is never anything without, at least, these three ad- 
ditions: first, variety or difference; second, time; third, relation^ 
spatial or otherwise. These are all terms in a series, or set of con- 
current series. Nothing can be, practically, isolated, for everything 
runs in a series. But this is a much broader theory of continuity 
than that which Synechism affords, f AH apparent perplexities van- 
ish. The difficulty no longer exists that to perceive a series we must 
hold it, as it were, in solution. Since other than series nothing is. 

* Cf., in this connection, the results of experiments by Cheselden, as far back as 
1727 on congenitally blind persons, couched for double cataract. 

f Much more inclusive, also, than the RelalioiiaJ Theory of the Neo-Kantians. 



Hence the cosmos is an illimitable series or complex of series. But 
inasmuch as the timal element (as also the spatial) occurs through 
the series having time-term and space-term resident within it* all 
difficulty in apprehending it as a series vanishes. The impractica- 
bility, if any, would be in viewing any term as isolated. 


What a flood of light does such a system shed indirectly upon 
Tychism, since the controversy between the latter and determinism 
mainly hinges upon the '*must be/' the imperative, as it were, of 
the series! It has been very ably pointed out by Dr. Cerus in his 
article re Mr, Peirce's ** Onslaught on the Doctrine of Necessity*' 
{The Monisi, Vol. II, No. 4, pp. 573-4) that the formula adopted 
by Mr. Peirce in his Tychism, '* chance is first, law is second, the 
tendency of habits is third/' involves its author in the admission of 
a law in a system professing to be, in its inception at all events, 
chanceful and lawiess. Mr. Peirce's *'Synechism" professes to be 
the law of mind. Parenthetically, however, it may be remarked, 
that the distinction as to law, and lawlessness or *• chance," narrows 
itself to the plane of one term more or less in a series, or even to (esi 
than thai iubordinatf (^lace. For, although, for convenience sake, 
and for facility of contrast, we have foUow^ed Mr. Peirce's figure of 
a series, to show more clearly also to what his theory leads, it is 
nevertheless plain, that time and its accompanying relations being 
placed on their proper level, that of integral percepts and concepts, 
the figure of a series is simply a matter of convenience of arrange- 
ment. Certainly as the **time when" is necessarily annexed to every 
percept and concept the timal element may be said to follow, not to 
precede, its fellows-term. Really, however, they may be said to be 
simultaneous, since the timal refinements of finite^ infinite, past, 
present, and future are each of them contained in a percept of its 


But if the timal element be independent as a separate percept, 
the spatial as another, and soon, it follows^that, although the terms 
of the series may. as it were, r////, though we cannot conceive them 



separated, or as, in practice, otherwise than as continuous in their 
flow, still, theoretically, a series or complex of series it is, and 
series may be interrupted at any term. Thus externality itself being' 
a spatial relation, is but tme term mori\ non-essential in theory, to 
the term preceding. So that when the Neo-Kantians speak of the 
** constitution of the objective" it ought to be added that it is not 
only the content of the objective which is thus constituted by con- 
sciousness, but that externality, ail that goes to make up what is 
termed **out-sidedness," is constituted by consciousness also. 


** The preseni is half past, and half to e^^me/^ (p, 546) like the color 
of a curved boundary line on a particolored surface ; i. e. '* betwixt 
and between " the two. It is here that the theory of Synechism shows 
its chief defect. Up to this stage we have been dealing with ideas, 
feelings, a, b, c, d , , . successively passing through a point of con- 
sciousness e. And the infinitesimal notation suits the required process 
fairly well. It is complicated enough, but it is ingenious, and at least 
plausible. Nothing up to this stage would lead us to suppose that| 
any additional element was to be imported into the rationale which 
Mr. Peirce presents. As we have seen, finite time would not serve 
his purpose. By however minute 2. finite interval have a^ b^ c or d 
passed the point e^ all chance of their recovery is hopeless. Well, 
we have recourse to infinitesimals, and find (to put it popularly, and 
not in Mr. Peirce's technical terms) that a past the point of con- 
sciousness by an infinitesimal interval heralds h. So that e is simul- 
taneously confronted with the disappearing form of the first and the 
appearing form of the second, and the same with b, and <% in turn, 
and so on. Thus the present, in the sense of ideas successively 
passing through consciousness, is half a and half b, then half i^ and 
half r, this infinitesimal gradation ultimately ensuring the presence 
of the whole series in the last ** moment. " 

But this will not avail with the concept time itself as distin- 
guished from timed succession. That these two are separate with 
Mr. Peirce it is impossible to doubt. He says, e. g,, '*Time with 
its continuity logically involves some other kind of continuity than 



its own," (p. 547) and speaks of "time and its flow," and of **time 
as the universal form **of change.** And it is confusing, to say the 

least, when we are shifted without warning from what is practically 
the perceptual to the conceptual region. Granted tlie ideas, the 
feelings, or what not, ** gliding almost imperceptibly" (as did the 
late Mr. Bardell to another sphere) past the central point of con- 
sciousness, )^et not wholly past, only going, less past than any as- 
signable past date, granted this, the assertion is not consequently 
warranted that time itself, ih^ pr f sent ^ as time, not as involving the 
succession of ideas, is ''half past and half to come/' The ideas, the 
feelings, of which Mr. Peirce writes, successively pass through the 
stage of being thus half past and half to come, but that is by no 
means the same thing as saying that the present is half past, half to 
come, as Synechism avers. With our theory, as presented in the fore- 
going pages there is indeed no such difficulty, but Mr. Peirce, on 
the other hand, has elected to stand by infinitesimally measuring 
time, as applied to ideas etc., as separate from conceptual time, and 
must take the consequences of his decision. He says tlu present, 
m>t the present idea. 

Now, in the concept time as a whole, in its entire range, a defi- 
nite point may be selected^ — to the exclusion of other points — a point 
having position but not extension, as the present. Is it, then, — the 
present, — half past, half to come, as a timed idea is? Certainly not. 
There is nothing of the flow of a series in it. Further, this selection 
of the *'now,'* as a point, does not interfere with its permanence. 
**Nowness" may persist. And the moment it partook, even infini- 
tesimally, of the character of the past or of the future, it would cease 
to be the present. In the case of a series of ideas in time the diffi- 
culty is to get them all in present solution, as it were, without detri- 
ment to their evident continuity, but the definition of the present as 
a point in time presents no such difficulty. The conditions are quite 
distinct. Yet regarding this time point — the present — Mr. Peirce 
assures us that it is *Tialf past, half to come/' which is just that of 
which it is the precise negation, if words are to have any meaning. 

Again, Mr, Peirce's rationale shows, upon the face of it, that 
there is u) finitely divisible time and ^2) time divided infinitesi- 



mally, for what finite time could not do, in that it had limitations, 
the infinitesimal notation readily accomplishes. In its ulterior con- 
sequences, this is somewhat unfortunate for Synechism, inasmuch as 
the consciousness of ideas in continuity being confined to the infini- 
tesimal theory, where, it may be asked, is the place, in conscious- 
ness, for the succession of finite intervals? Consciousness must be 
practically doubled, so to speak, if it is to hold both of these to- 
gether. This is what comes of making one's world-scheme hang 
upon a mathematical subtlety^ — ^the subtlety in question partaking 
as a rule, more or less of the nature of an escape from the difficultiesj 
of the vulgar notation, the vulgar notation remains to be reckoned 
with, and both have to be credited to consciousness. As an instance 
of this take the following from Mr. Peirce's late article,^ *' Man's 
Glassy Essence " — p. 15: 

' ' In order thai a sub-molecale of food may be thoroughly and firmly assimilated 
inio a broken molecule of protoplasm, it is necessary not only that it should have 
precisely the right cheraicaJ composition, but also that it should be at precisely the 
ri^ht spot ri/ the right time and should be moving in precisely the right direction 
with precisely the right velocity. If all these conditions are not fulfilled^ . . , it 
will be in special danger of being thrown out again " (The italics are not in the 

Now here is a **time when'' which can be exactly specified in 
accordance with the conditions. Certain results follow unless it is 
kept to. This is what Mn Peirce would doubtless consider as a 
timed physical event, part and parcel of the regularity of matter, 
and yet an event which, in its own time and way, goes to account 
for both feeling and habit-taking— capable, therefore, of being stated 
in terms of finite time, as happening at a given instant, and neither 
before nor after it. But when this same molecule is, by virtue of 
keeping its appointment punctually, safely installed in feeling proto- 
plasm, the succession of ideas, or feelings, of which, as subject, it 
is capable, obeys another rule — a given ittstafd obtains no longer; it 
is the moment which is everything f — ^a moment half its predecessor, 

♦ The Mtmist, Vol. 111. No. 1. 

f Mr. Peirce uses the word '* instant" to mean a point of time, and "moment* 
to mean qd infinitesimal duration. 



half its successor. Even granted the function of the infinitesimftl, 
this looks very mucli like a reduction to absurdity. For, if the above 
mentioned timed coalescence of the sub-molecule with the broken 
molecule were also a matter of subjective feeling, passed as process 
through a consciousness, the conchisiun follows that the juncture of 
the molecules happens at two different times ! There is no escape 
from this. Given the inatattt in the one case, the momtnt in the other, 
these two cannot possibly be the same point in time. The moment 
partakes, however insensibly, of the preceding and succeeding stages, 
the instant does not Hence they are not the same but different 


The foregoing has a distinct bearing upon the question of ^* other 
selves** of which Mr. Peirce writes as follows: 

"The recognition by one perKon of anolber's personality takes place by means 
to some extent identical with the means by which he is conscious of his own per- 
sonality. Tlie idea of the second ix^rsonaHty. svhicli is as much as to say that second 
personality itself, enters within the field of direct consciousness of the first person, 
and is as immediately perceived'as his ego^ though less strongly. At the same time, 
the opposition between the two persons is perceived, so that the externality of the 
second is recognised." (•' The Law of Mind/' p. 558.) 

This is the scheme of ** otherness ** which, in the case of the 
Neo-Kantians, particularly the French section, represented by M, 
Pillon, M. Renonvier, and others, has proved such a snare. To 
these thinkers, (as indeed to the late Prof. T. H. Green, of Oxford, 
though in a less degree,) the so-called external world lies in "other" 
thinking subjects — in *< foreign centres of representations." The 
free* trade doctrine has verily penetrated to the philosophic re- 
gion — the wholesale admission of foreign wares to the detriment of 
home products. Why should I place the content of that so-called 
external world, which, external or internal, is my ver>^ own inalien- 
ably, in a centre of representation otllfer than my own, thus making 
my cognition of it rest entirely upon the ''ejective *' plane? It is 
only when I discover, as I must sooner or later, that there is noth- 
ing in the report of an ** outsider" (or in any number of them) be- 
yond what I credit him or her with in my own consciousness; and 



that the outsider is on the same plane as other objects, it is only 
then that the mystification is cleared up. I do noi cognise, or rec- 
ognise, the external at second-hand. The ^*note'* of otherness is 
simply another term more or less in the cosaiical series. 

It is, however, not only with the familiar ** other selves*' of 
ordinary life that we are confronted in Synechism. In the creed of 

" Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth/' 

and Mr. Peirce speaks of "spiritual influences" (p. 559) as having 
at least no hindrance presented to them by his doctrine. But he 
has some other shadowy personalities at command, which, it must 
be confessed, are well calculated to give us pause. ** There should 
be something like*, personal consciousness in bodies of men who 
are in intimate and intensely sympathetic communion. . . . None of 
us can fully realise which the minds of corporations are. . - . But 
the law of mind clearly points to the existence of such personalities.*' 
It is probably true that the ** minds of corporations," must ever 
present an insoluble riddle of perversity to the suburban dweller, 
vexed with the mockery of paving and lighting. But we need not 
linger over this speculation, for there are other shades behind. 

*' If such a fact is capable of being made out anywhere it should be in the 
Church. . . . Surely a personality ought to have developed in that Church, in that 
'bride of Christ.' as they call it " (" Mao's Glassy Essence/' pp. 21-22 ) 


Bearing our ecclesiastical divisions in mind^ it is difficult to 
conceive the unity of a '^corporate personality" of this kind, but, 
to let that pass, it may be remarked that, when any one begins to 
imagine that there are others in the universe besides himself, he is 
not, as a rule, content with two or three companions of his solitude. 
They come in battalions- Thus, behind the other selves, corporate 
personalities and spiritual inikiences of Synechism, there looms a 
transcendent personalit)'. '^A genuine evolutionary philosophy,'* 
we are told, **..,. is so far from being antagonistic to the idea o£ 

* The phrase, '* something iike," is significant, when we remember* (see anU,\ 
that with Mr, Peirce the excitants were "something like" the excited feelings. 



a personal creator, that it is really inseparable from that idea." 
And a philosophy of pseudoevokitionism is *♦ hostile to all hopes 
of personal relations to God." ( *^The Law of Mind,'* p. 557.) 

Mr Peirce thus assigns to his first cause a place in the ant- 
iinuum of ideas, and says that if there is a personal God we must 
have a direct perception of that person and "indeed be in personal 
communication with him." The difficulty, he admits, is that if this 
be so, how is it possible that the existence of this being should ever 
have been doubted by anybody. And the only answer he can at 
present make is, that '* facts that stand before our face and eyes, 
and stare us in the face, are far from being in all cases the ones 
most easily discerned. That,'* he adds, **has been remarked from 
time immemorial.*' (**The Law of Mind," pp» 558-559.) 

One of the ablest of living philosophical writers, Professor 
Veitch, of Glasgow University, puts it somewhat similarly, though 
with liis own realistic coloring, when he says : 

*' Got!, if at all. must rise abme the line of finite regress ; He cannot be a c^use 
in that ; He cannot be a causse dependent on another cause ;*Hemusl be somewhere, 
or at some point, in the line of an otherwise endless scientific regress, there, above 
it« yet related to it, and in it ; olherwise He is nothing for us " ('* Knowing and 
Being, " p. 320. ) 

The parallelism is worth noting. Those views embody what 
has been the contention of the present writer throughout this paper, 
with this most notable difftr^tue \ that no term of a series may thus 
transcend the series, or be other than on a level with the other 
terms, being itself only a term, a link, in the series itself. And with 
this falls forever the idea of a cause uncaused. • 

Yet am / not in the series? For all that is in the series is mine 
every percept, every concept : so that, **extravagant** as it may ap- 
pear, it is / who am the serit's. In other words, the ego is the uni- 
verse-synthesis, and the universe-synthesis the ego. 

Is Mr. Peirce prepared to take the consequences of that which 
his Synechism leads to? 

G. M, McCrie. 




THE tendency to generalise long ago led mathematicians to 
extend the notion of three-dimensional space, which is the 
space of sensible representation, and to define aggregates of points, or 
spaces, of more than three dimensions, with the view of employing 
these definitions as usefnl means of investigation. They had no 
idea of requiring people to imagine four-dimensional things and 
worlds, and they were even still less remote from requiring of them 
to believe in the real existence of a four-dimensioned space. In 
the hands of mathematicians this extension of the notion of space 
was a mere means devised for the discovery and expression, by 
shorter and more convenient ways, of trnths apph'cable to com- 
mon geometry and to algebra operating with more than three un- 
known quantities. At this stage, however, the spiritualists came in, 
and coolly took possession of this private property of the mathema- 
ticians. They were in great perplexity as to where they should put 
the spirits of the dead. To give them a place in the world acces* 
sible to our senses was not exactly practicable. They were com- 
pelled, therefore, to look around after some terra incognita, which 
should oppose to the spirit of research inborn in humanity an insu- 
perable barrier. The residence of the spirits had to be a place in- 
accessible to our senses and full of mystery to the mind. This prop- 
erty the four-dimensioned space of the mathematicians possessed. 
With an intellectual perversity which science has no idea of, these 
spiritualists boldly asserted, first, that the whole world was so sit- 



uated in a four-dimensioned space as a plane might be situated in 
the space familiar to us, secondly, that the spirits of the dead lived 
in such a four-dimensioned space, thirdly, that tliese spirits could 
accordingly act upon the world and, consequently, upon tlie human 
beings resident in it, exactly as we three-dimensioned creatures can 
produce effects upon things that are two-dimensional : for example, 
such effects as that produced when we shatter a lamina of ice, and 
so influence some possibly existing two-dimensioned /tv-world. 

Since spiritualism, under the leadership of the Leipsic Professor 
Zollner, thus proclaimed the existence of a four-dimensioned space, 
this notion, which the mathematicians are thoroughly master of, — 
for in